


ultralife (with me)

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Ever since the tender age of eleven, Jongin's experienced horrible injuries that can only be explained by his soulbond. One of his biggest regrets in life is that he's unable to help his soulmate – but that changes when an alien race invades their planet, forcing the Earth's population to seek refuge underground.---A soulmate fic where injuries received by one person also shows up on the other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlaymon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlaymon/gifts).



> Lines indicate a switch in POV – the switch carries over between chapters.
> 
> *Chapter 4 is just an epilogue!

Children receive their first class regarding soulmarks when they turn fourteen – apparently, starting high school marks a period in one’s life that has adults assuming they’re ready to think about their futures. It’s regarded as a _special_ subject, one that isn’t part of the tested curriculum but takes up time in school anyways. So it’s no surprise that everyone’s excited about it. Jongin, however, isn’t excited whatsoever. He trudges into class, oddly quiet, and settles down in the back row. Kyungsoo, one of his good friends, whips around in his seat and gives him a concerned look, but is unable to ask questions before the teacher raps on her desk.

Jongin doesn’t pay much attention throughout the entire period, already knowing everything that Mrs. Lisbon is talking about. He knows because he had a crash course on soulmarks when he was 11, courtesy of his parents. He had a crash course on soulmarks when he was 11 because marks started blooming on his skin when he was 11.

They weren’t random marks, either. Jongin was outside play wrestling with his sister when a sharp pain flooded up the side of his ribs. He’d screamed in agony, knees colliding with the soft earth when he fell. His mother had rushed out in a panic, and he distantly remembers his sister crying because she thought she’d hurt him.

“It wasn’t her,” he’d managed to gasp, and a frown had formed on his mother’s face.

Later, when the pain had subsided, his mother pulled up the hem of his shirt. The inhale Jongin heard sent his blood curdling.

“Is it bad?”

“Oh, honey. It is, but for you, it’ll fade in minutes. For your other half, however…” She trailed off, looking horribly conflicted.

“What do you mean?”

That night, Jongin went to bed with his mind buzzing, a palm pressed over where the bruise had been. His mother had sat him down and explained everything in simple terms: everyone has a soulmate – “another person who perfectly matches you” –, and certain marks that one party receives, the other one will bear too, if only for a brief moment.

Soulmates. The concept could be romantic to some, but Jongin’s early exposure to what it really entailed means that he will never think of it as an enthralling idea.

The bruises do not appear regularly by any means, but when they do occur, they’re brutal. Sometimes, Jongin will go months without anything apart from the occasional stubbed toe or checked hip, but there have been days where new bruises will spring up every night. A year ago, his soulmate had been slapped so hard across the face that he’d gotten whiplash. The tears that sprung to Jongin’s eyes weren’t for himself.

So all Jongin can think of as Mrs. Lisbon goes on and on about soulbonds is the tightening of phantom fingers around his neck late last night. It had woken him up from his sleep, and Jongin scrabbled at his neck, mind hazy and legs kicking until the pressure let up and he could breathe again. Scrambling out of bed as his heart pounded against his ribs, he flipped on all the lights in his bathroom and stared at the purpling marks, shaped like fat fingers, around his throat. He stood there, gripping the edge of his sink as tears dripped down his face, and remained standing until the marks faded into nothingness.

When a girl a few rows ahead raises her hand and asks if writing on your own skin meant that your soulmate could read the words on themselves, Jongin bites back the answer and lets Mrs. Lisbon reply instead.

The answer is _no, they won’t be able to_ , and Jongin knows this because he’d spent almost an hour a few months ago scribbling on his own arm with a bright pink Sharpie. _Are you okay? Who’s hurting you? Please reply if you can see this._ He wrote until his whole forearm was covered in marker, and his mother had taken one glance at the words printed on his skin before bursting into tears and cradling him against her chest. Jongin wasn’t able to fall back asleep, and he spent the rest of the night sitting up in bed, feeling utterly useless. He hadn’t missed the desperate looks his parents shared – no one knew what to do.

Mrs. Lisbon’s voice is a soundtrack to a bleak movie, and Jongin’s never been so happy to hear the bell ring.

“You okay?”

Startled, Jongin whirls around and sees Kyungsoo standing there.

“You really bolted out of there.”

Swallowing past the dry lump in his throat, Jongin turns back to his locker and shoves his books in. “Yeah, uh, I just…”

“It happened again, didn’t it?”

Kyungsoo knows just enough. Not the extent of the injuries or how frequent, but he knows enough to agree with Jongin that his soulmate is being abused.

“Yeah,” Jongin says roughly. He closes his locker door with more force than necessary. “Last night. It was pretty bad.”

There’s nothing Kyungsoo can say to make it all better, so they head to their next class together in silence.

 

 

 

  
His English essay is half-written, the desk cluttered with textbooks and empty cans of soda. Outside, the sun is shining merrily, and Jongin gives the blue sky a baleful glare before turning back to the artificial light of his laptop screen.

He manages to type out another paragraph before a sharp, piercing pain flares up on the back of his shoulders, right above the ridge of his scapula. He immediately thinks back to when he was fifteen, back to when a large, deep gash had appeared right where the pain’s starting to blossom now. He’d bled a lot, dripping crimson onto the synthetic rubber of his school’s running track and ruining his uniform. Jongdae, a fellow track and field member, had held onto him, eyes wide and terrified, as Jongin’s cries of agony echoed throughout the field.

It’s a somewhat familiar place, but the pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt before – over time, he’s come to recognise the blows made by hands and feet. Even a blade, that one time. This is different.

He shouts for his sister. Nearly knocking his chair over when he stands, Jongin yanks his shirt up and over his head, teeth gritting as the pain travels down a couple of inches.

“What –”

“What’s happening,” Jongin demands, turning so his back is facing his sister. “What do you see?”

He can hear his sister breathing. When she touches his skin with a cold finger, he jumps a mile into the air.

“It’s… a thin, red line.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s like someone drawing – hold on.” She falls silent as she squints at the lines, and Jongin tries his best not to writhe in pain. It’s a white-hot sear past his skin and into his flesh. It’s – “Oh my god, it’s a _tattoo_.”

That’s how Jongin finds himself lying face down on his bed, his sister perched by his hip as she takes pictures every fifteen minutes that document the tattoo’s progress. Some lines fade away into nothingness as others are etched into his skin, and the pain shifts gradually across the width of his shoulders. It hurts a lot more when it moves down his spine, but Jongin can only tighten his grip on his pillows and bear it.

The tattoo takes over two hours.

“I think it’s done,” Jongin croaks, skin clammy and his fingers aching with how hard he had clutched the sheets. His sister hums an agreement, and Jongin hears the telltale snap of her phone’s camera as she takes one last shot.

He peers blearily at the pictures. It’s nice, Jongin thinks, after he manages to piece together the dozen or so pictures of the tattoo in different states. It spans the width of his shoulders, the linear design dripping down his back.

“Hey,” his sister says. “Doesn’t this mean you’ll know who your soulmate is if you see the tattoo?”

Jongin gives up on getting any work done for the remainder of the night, too caught up in the idea that he can technically identify his soulmate. He vaguely wonders if that’s why his soulmate had gotten the tattoo done.

 

 

 

  
Jongin is two months from graduating when the skies open up and turn the world upside down. Gravel crunches under the wheels of his bike, the straps of his backpack flapping as Jongin pedals through the streets. It’s a Saturday, and he’s running late for a project meeting. As he skids around a corner, sunlight bounces off the window of a storefront and momentarily blinds him. Jongin brakes, hard, and blinks away the white explosions behind his eyelids.

This is what saves his life.

Because just a couple of heartbeats later, a building-sized rock, razor-sharp at the edges, slams down into the pavement just several feet in front of Jongin. It crackles with electricity, almost blue in hue, and Jongin bites back the scream in his throat. He barely has a second to collect himself before more rocks fall, dropping like sandbags everywhere. A house just down the street turns to rubble, and Jongin whips his bike around.

He speeds back home, chancing a glance up at the sky. Goosebumps erupt down his arms when he sees the pulsing gash in the sky, black and purple miles long and wide. Behind him, the rocks start to crack, lines matching those in the road. Jongin’s long gone by the time alien creatures step out of the rocks and onto Earth.

His house and family are blessedly safe when he returns, and Jongin stumbles inside just in time to see terrified newscasters reporting that alien invasions are going on all around the world. The public is told to sit tight, stay indoors, and to keep all lights off. Evacuation procedures will be released as soon as possible.

“What the fuck,” Jongin whispers. His sister, clutching one of the couch cushions, shoots him a fearful look.

He hears thuds from upstairs, then footsteps running down the stairs.

“You two; pack a bag,” his father instructs, darting into the kitchen. “One or two changes of clothes, dry food, water. Phone charger. Only things that are necessary.” Drawers open and slam shut.

The siblings hurry to do what they’re told. Jongin shoves as many things into his biggest backpack as possible, making sure to pack his trusty pocket knife. As he packs, he sends a message to his group chat, asking if everyone’s alright. Waiting for the ping of a new message is agonizing, but he distracts himself by upending his room and then his sister’s.

_i can’t find my brother_

_fuck i can’t get home, the roads are blocked_

_what’s happening what the fuck are these big ass rocks_

_my mother won’t pick up_

_guys where’s bryan?_

_Kdjkfjs’’sd;sdfgk kjse;dkdfg [;;1_

_guys my mother is h_

Jongin’s about to call each and every one of them when he feels the bones in his left forearm shift and shatter. The pain is unbelievable, punching the air out of his lungs with the force of a swung battering ram. He passes out for a few seconds, a scream of pain still lodged in his throat when he yanks himself back into consciousness.

“Fuck,” he pants, pulling himself upright and cradling his broken arm against his chest. He slumps against the frame of his bed, feeling hair stick to the back of his neck. “ _Fuck_.”

His bones heal after fifteen minutes, but the panic in Jongin’s heart amplifies ten-fold.

 

 

 

  
Evacuation procedures begin at dusk, with army personnel guiding waves of civilians towards some sort of checkpoint. Jongin sticks close to his family, periodically checking his phone just to see if his friends are okay. There are a couple that haven’t responded, and Jongin really hopes that they’re alive.

They’ve been walking for over twenty minutes when an explosion occurs a few miles away, rocking the ground and sending several young children to their knees. Heat balloons out in waves as debris bullets in all directions. Jongin grabs his mother, shielding her head as everyone ducks instinctively, screams of fear ringing in the air.

“Keep moving!” A soldier yells, gripping onto his assault rifle. Jongin watches a bead of sweat run into the collar of his uniform. “Checkpoint is less than a mile that direction!”

People start scrambling to move, shoving and pushing in a primal need to stay alive. Jongin goes with the momentum, keeping a hand tight around his mother’s as they surge forward with the crowd. It isn’t long until they hear gunshots, several soldiers speaking into their comms as they rush in the direction of the explosion, weapons raised and fingers against triggers.

“What’s happening,” Jongin hears someone cry.

“I heard that there are aliens coming out of those rocks,” someone else replies. “Like, big gross creatures just flooding out.”

Jongin’s grip on his mother’s hand tightens. “Let’s move faster,” he mumbles. Warm fingers squeeze around his. So they pick up the pace, and Jongin keeps his gaze ahead. As he runs, he feels brief, blunt pain in various parts of his body – his soulmate is still alive, much to his relief, but judging by the number of bruises Jongin can feel sprouting up, his soulmate is not having an easy time.

Before long, the checkpoint comes into view, rows and rows of soldiers standing in formation as tanks flank them on either side. There’s a large flag with the warning symbol printed across the fabric, but there isn’t a building.

“Where –”

“It’s underground,” Jongin realises. “We’re being sent –”

A deafening crash, and Jongin whips his head around to see more crackling rocks slamming into the ground just several hundred yards away. Everyone shudders to a stop, eyes wide and mouths open. Jongin fights the fear that’s threatening to root his feet to the ground.

“Move,” he says, pushing his mother forward. “Mom! Move! We need to get inside!”

 

 

 

  
Only 63% of the city’s population managed to make it underground before the aliens – now referred to as _Iseijins_ – swarmed the area. Images from the last trip that the soldiers made above ground shows the extent of the devastation wrought upon what was once their homes. That day, Jongin lost a handful of acquaintances and a couple of close friends. It had taken him more than half a year to reconcile himself to the fact that he would never see them walk, talk, or laugh ever again.

The underground city is… different. Sunlight is now a foreign concept, their days and nights determined by a computer system and a holographic ceiling. Technology down here is infinitely more advanced than anything Jongin has ever seen above ground – almost everything is automated, from the perfect shower temperature to the way the bed linens straighten themselves out in the mornings.

For the past two decades, scientists and engineers have worked on the underground city after warnings about an inevitable invasion from extraterrestrial forces were sent down to governments from space stations. Mankind has never dealt with an attack of this magnitude before, so the amount of resources and time put into constructing these underground cities were astronomical. Self-sustainable and designed to support steady population growth, these cities also managed to incorporate features such as movie theatres, malls, parks, and beaches.

It’s an objectively amazing feat, but under the circumstances… well, not so much. It’s home for now, but Jongin doesn’t plan on staying down here forever.

It’s also the place where civilians learn more about  _iseijins_.

Bipedal creatures that can grow up to 10 feet tall, their bodies are thick with muscle and covered with tough, indigo hides. They have three sets of razor-sharp teeth, and while they have claws that are more than enough to kill, they preferred using their spit – venomous and acidic, those thick, black globs could burn through someone’s torso in seconds. While they have enhanced senses of sight and smell, they have terrible hearing and are unable to move fast. Civilians are _definitely_ more than willing to leave them to the hands of the military.

 

 

 

  
When he turned eighteen years old, Jongin didn’t receive his high school degree, but he’s well on his way to learning skills that he never thought he would ever need. The army had opened their doors to anyone aged eighteen or above in an attempt to boost their numbers. Jongin’s instant interest to join had promptly been shut down by his parents – ”Absolutely not, Kim Jongin. You have no experience whatsoever, and you are barely an adult!”

Knowing when to give up and try another time is something Jongin prides himself on. So he’d spent close to two years training. There are training areas meant for the army that are open to the public when not in use – so Jongin builds up his strength and muscle mass in the gym, works on hand-to-hand combat with the help of training dummies, and practices at the firing range during ridiculous hours of the day.

He makes it into the army a couple of months after his twentieth birthday. They stick him into a group of fellow officer cadets, some of whom are his age, but that’s irrelevant. Jongin isn’t there to make friends. He’s there to fight, to get revenge for those who can’t, to take back what is theirs. He doesn’t want to forge more friendships with expiration dates on them.

He trains harder, trains more, trains until he’s sprawled out on the ground night after night with exhaustion, sweat seeping through thin cotton shirts. Although he’s technically a soldier, someone of his rank will only be allowed to head above ground during an all-out battle. That’s not going to cut it for him – he wants to go on regular raids, wants to hunt down _iseijins_ , wants to figure out a way to stop them.

Over time, his superior officers begin to see the gap that slowly, but steadily, forms between Jongin and the rest of his teammates. They subject him to increasingly tougher tests in an attempt to gauge the extent of his abilities, but Jongin consistently scores top scores on all of them, breezing through every category with unmistakable ease.

That’s how, by the time he turns twenty-two, he becomes a Lieutenant in charge of his own small team of six. His new posting sends his mother into a tizzy, but Jongin recruits his father and sister to help him calm her down. She still doesn’t stop worrying whenever Jongin’s team is dispatched with a few others to head above ground for various missions, but at least she stops harping on about it every minute of every day.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, being able to head above ground. Weeds have made cracks in the asphalt of their homes, and there isn’t a single building left standing that is unharmed. Well, there are, if you count the towers created by the _iseijins_ – tall, broad columns with a single pulsing ball of energy in the middle. According to intel, they’re beacons used for communicating over long distances. The army has been trying to destroy those beacons in hopes of preventing communication between colonies, but it hasn’t been easy, not with the swarms and swarms of aliens that patrol the areas.

It’s… a work in progress, that’s for sure. But Jongin isn’t about to give up.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
There’s one perk to living in the slums. That’s a fact that Sehun will grudgingly admit. Sure, when the attack hit, the military sent just a handful of soldiers to herd a large number of civilians – which probably explains why Sehun found him and his mother left behind –, but being in the outskirts is the next best alternative to the underground. Most of the _iseijins_ are centred in the heart of the city, and they rarely patrolled the areas around Sehun’s neighbourhood.

He’d just started his afternoon shift at his part-time job at the nearby supermarket when it occurred. Panic spreads like wildfire, so it hadn’t taken him long to hear about the attack a few dozen miles away.

“Mom,” he breathed. He dropped the groceries in his hands – not that the customer was around to see it by then – and bolted out the door, swinging a leg over his rusting bike and pedalling as fast as he could. Tunnelled on getting to his mother, he missed a car turning a corner. The next thing he knew, he was flung off his bike, and his arm landed across his chest in a grotesque angle. But he can’t afford to lie in pain, not when he knows his mother is all alone.

He made it home, after far too much time fashioning a makeshift sling from his shirt, and but didn’t have enough time to make it to the safe zone before more _iseijins_ landed. So he stayed home, shuttering the windows and keeping as quiet as he could while he mother set his arm to the best of her abilities.

They stayed in their rundown apartment for close to a year. Sehun learned the patrolling pattern of the few aliens in his neighbourhood after a couple of weeks and left to scrounge the supermarket for food whenever he was able to. His arm healed well enough – the bone would ache when it rained – but he could use it, and that’s all that mattered.

During that time, Sehun would be subjected to blows all over his body. It happened almost on a daily basis, sometimes late in the night – those would cause Sehun to shoot up in bed, the air knocked out of him, clutching onto tattered sheets as he keeps his wheezing silent for fear of waking his mother up.

When the blows first started, Sehun had been worried out of his mind. He’s seen marks on his skin before, of course, but they were the occasional scrape of the knee, papercuts, or other surface injuries that could be explained by carelessness or participation in a rough sport. Oh right, there was that one time when he was twelve – he was in the middle of mopping up the kitchen floor when he felt the bones in his shin splintering –, but that was the worst it ever got.

This was completely different. But with time, Sehun realised that his soulmate was alright. Sure, they were getting beat up on a regular basis, but the hits were centred around his arms and torso, so Sehun figured that they were taking some sort of fighting class.

So each blow worked to assure Sehun that his soulmate was still out there, alive and kicking.

By the time soldiers that were out hunting for survivors found him, the only person Sehun was able to find comfort in was his soulmate. His mother had passed a couple of months ago from malnutrition and poor health in general, exacerbated by their living conditions. He buried her in a shallow grave just across the street and cried only when he woke up to pain blooming across his stomach.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Lieutenant Kim?”

Jongin calls out the command to stop the training dummy and turns around to look at the source of the voice. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck and the point of his jaw – a drop falls and breaks on his shoe.

“Yeah?”

“Captain Kleine wants to see you.” The cadet looks stressed, so Jongin chooses to save his questions for later and simply thanks him instead.

Grabbing his towel, Jongin jogs out of the training room and makes his way over to the office of his commanding officer. Kleine, at the age of 27, is a couple of years older than he is and was the one who had recommended Jongin for his promotion. They are also one of the few friends he was willing to make underground.

He knocks thrice on Kleine’s door, then promptly opens the door and heads in.

“Hey,” he says, flopping into the only other available chair in the room. “What’s up?”

Kleine sweeps red hair out of their eyes and purses their lips. “Well. As you know, we’re starting our recruitment process for the year, and I’ve been passed this file.”

A folder slaps lightly against Jongin’s outstretched hand.

“It’s the first time it came to my desk, but according to his records, he’s tried enlisting for the past two years.”

“And he was rejected both times.” A furrow forms between Jongin’s brows as he scans through the papers. “I see that here, but why was he rejected..? I don’t see the reason.”

Kleine leans back in their chair and raises a hand.

“One,” they say, lowering a finger. “Doesn’t work well in teams. Two.” A second finger lowers. “Doesn’t do well with authority. Three. He has a lot of potential – as you can tell from his scores –, but he’s reckless and likes to act before he thinks. Four. He’s enlisting for revenge. I don’t have a number five, but I clearly don’t need one.”

“Well shit,” Jongin says. He closes the file. “Okay, so why are we talking about him?”

“The one thing he’s got going for him – his skills. As you know, our numbers aren’t growing. And we could really use someone with his skills.”

Jongin frowns at his friend. “O-kay?”

Kleine rolls their eyes. “I’ve been told to task someone with training him. Train him until all those points I just listed out become void. Train him until we can recruit him.”

“I –” Jongin gapes at them, floundering for words. “You know I’ve never done something like this before. Does he even know about this deal?”

“Of course. He’s been informed that this is the only way we will ever consider enlisting him. He agreed to it, although with great reluctance. If you decline, I’ll find someone else, but I think you’re the best candidate for this.”

“Give me the night to think about it,” Jongin says. “I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow.”

Kleine nods, and Jongin leaves with the file in his hands.

 

 

 

  
He finds Kleine in the cafeteria, their military uniform perfectly pressed and a large mug of steaming coffee sitting on the table.

“I’ll do it,” Jongin says, sliding into the seat opposite them.

“Excellent,” Kleine replies, not looking up from the tablet in their hands. “I will let the cadet know – he will meet you at 1300 by the training deck.”

“Why do you not sound surprised at all?”

Kleine snorts. “Jongin, I’ve known you for, what, four years? I _know_ you. You’re not the kind of person to not give someone a chance.”

After a nice, quiet breakfast, Jongin returns to his room and decides that he will deal with some paperwork. When words begin to turn into fuzz in his brain, he changes into his training clothes – an exercise tank and joggers – and heads off to the training deck, where he spends a solid 30 minutes with a punching bag for a warmup.

Now, at 1300 on the dot, Jongin finds himself waiting by the doors to the training deck, heart pumping at a good rate and sweat dampening the edge of his collar.

His tablet pings and Jongin swipes at the notification to see a picture sent to the group chat he has with his friends. Junmyeon had sent it – the picture shows Baekhyun with a child in his hands and a brown smear across the child’s pants.

_he picked the kid up and the kid shat himself immediately_

Junmyeon and Baekhyun both work at one of the five kindergartens in the city. They enjoy their jobs for the most part, but these moments… well, the look on Baekhyun’s face says it all.

 _HAHAHHAHAHAHA_ comes from Chanyeol, one of the military trainers assigned to oversee large-scale cadet training.

 _holy shit your face_ , is Jongdae’s reply. _pun intended._

Jongin snorts, setting the tablet aside just in time to see a tall figure walk in, clad in a black t-shirt and pants.

“Hey,” he says, straightening. “Sehun, right?” At the other man’s curt nod, Jongin offers up a hand. “I’m Lieutenant Jongin. I’ll be your, ah, trainer?”

“Pleasure, Lieutenant Kim,” is Sehun’s brusque reply. He takes Jongin’s hand and shakes it once before letting go. “So what are we doing today?”

Jongin raises a brow. Well, he’s clearly not here to make friends or beat around the bush.

“First of all, you can address me by my name. Titles aren’t necessary here.” The only acknowledgement Jongin gets from that statement is an unwavering stare from Sehun.

“Right,” Jongin continues, clearing his throat. “I have eight weeks to turn you into someone the higher-ups are willing to call a soldier. If at any point I deem that you are, for the third time, unfit to become one, I will pull the plug on this. Am I understood?”

Something tightens in Sehun’s jaw, but the only words that come out of his mouth are a simple, “Yes, Sir.”

Jongin studies him for a moment, takes in unyielding brown eyes, a strong nose, and a surprisingly soft mouth.

“Alright then.” He turns and heads out onto the training mat. “Things will be intense – you will spend most of your afternoons with me, and breaks will be minimal. But first things first, you need to learn how to work with someone else.”

He can practically feel the reluctance radiating off the man behind him, but Jongin has a job to do, and he’s going to do it regardless of how difficult it might be. Grabbing two zip ties, he beckons Sehun over and tells him to raise an arm. He ties his left wrist to Sehun’s right, then does the same with their corresponding ankles. When he straightens, he nearly snorts at the horrified look on Sehun’s face.

“Your task is simple. Make sure neither of us sustains no more than five hits in the span of the bot’s program. I have specially programmed this bot to run for two minutes before it stops. The goal is, clearly, to learn how to work with me. I will be fighting alongside you, which means that you will have to adapt yourself to the way I fight, and you will have to learn how to think not just in your own perspective, but mine as well. You will also have to learn to put the safety of your teammates above yourself.”

“Is that it,” Sehun says dryly, flexing his fingers.

“That’s it,” Jongin replies. They shuffle over to the touch panel and Jongin hits the _beginner_ button.

“Beginner?”

Jongin can't help but grin at how offended Sehun sounds. “Yup.”

The countdown begins, and they shuffle back to the middle of the room. A pair of training bots appears out of the wall, float over to them, and beep thrice to signify the beginning of the training session.

“Look, no disrespect, but I think I can handle –”

“Focus, cadet.”

The robot’s first swing comes from Sehun’s right, so he blocks that with ease. The second one, however, comes from his left, and in his haste to block, he completely forgets about the fact that he’s tethered to Jongin. One of the robot’s arms taps Jongin’s chest.

“That’s one,” Jongin says. Sehun exhales through clenched teeth.

Four more hits occur in the next thirty-six seconds. Jongin stops the program with a command, but Sehun shakes his head in frustration.

“Again.” The bots whir back to life.

After two hours and the twentieth try, Sehun grunts out an irritated “I need a break,” and practically pulls Jongin over to shut the training bot off. Jongin cuts the zip ties off, and Sehun rubs at his wrist sullenly.

“Easier said than done, huh?” Jongin quips, drinking a mouthful of water. “We will only proceed with the rest of your training until you are able to pass this task. Out there, above ground, I would rather have a soldier on my team who is mediocre at battle but has extraordinary teamwork than someone who is skilled but is a lone wolf. If I have your back, I expect you to have mine, too. That – the connection between teammates – is what makes us stronger.”

Sehun stays silent, chest straining under tight fabric as he catches his breath and waits for his pulse to fall back to normalcy.

“From your file, I’ve gathered that you are a very private person. I’m not asking you to divulge all of your secrets or tell me everything that you’re feeling, but you need to let others in, to an extent. You need to learn how to connect with other people, because when you’re out there and feeling like you’ve got nothing left in you, your teammates will be the ones to give you strength.”

Jongin considers it a minor victory when Sehun makes eye contact with him and Jongin doesn’t see any hostility in his eyes. Okay, he sees a little, but it’s a whole lot better than what they’d started out with.

“I’m ready to try again,” Sehun says. He holds out his wrist.

 

 

 

  
The second day goes by pretty much the same way. To his credit, Sehun manages to last longer than a minute – a definite step up from the previous day. Jongin doesn’t learn anything new about the cadet, but he’s patient enough for things to run their due course.

“You’re doing better,” Jongin comments. “Keep it up.”

“Thanks,” Sehun mutters, grabbing a towel off the shelf. It gets replaced almost instantly.

“Would you like to continue or are you done for the day? You’ve worked quite hard, so if you’d like to call it, I wouldn’t mind.”

Sehun hesitates, gloved fingers curled around the towel. “I think I’m done for now.”

Nodding, Jongin turns around and presses the palm of his finger against the scanner. The machine beeps, and Jongin pulls up the list of programmes available for use. Selecting _Combat Training 5_ , Jongin heads back out onto the mat, rolling out the muscles in his shoulders as he walks.

Another beep and a panel on the wall slides back to reveal a training bot. It zooms over to where Jongin in, giving no warning before it attacks. Jongin blocks it easily, shifting his weight over to a leg before lifting the other in a high kick. The ball of his foot connects with the bot’s face, and it skitters back a few inches. The computer program logs it.

It’s fast, but Jongin doesn’t lag behind. He blocks with ease, arms and legs always ready to attack whenever given the opportunity. Pulling off a flurry of punches to the bot’s chest, he feints a left and instead curves to the right, landing yet another blow to the neck.

He spars with the bot for another twenty-five minutes, stopping only when the programme ends.

Panting, Jongin wipes sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and glances around. There’s no one in here, but he catches sight of a blur of black by the door. He takes a second look, but whoever was there is there no longer.

 

 

 

  
It takes two more days for Sehun to finally pass the first task. He doesn’t even register it, not until Jongin stops the bot.

“What the hell? I was doing fine, why –”

“You passed, Sehun.” Jongin lips quirk in amusement. He pulls a stunned Sehun over to where scissors lie, and in a couple of seconds, the now-useless zip ties flop down onto the table.

“Good job,” Jongin continues. He fixes the cadet with a look. “So what did you learn from this task?”

“How to factor in someone else’s position and style of fighting,” Sehun answers, leaning against the wall. He picks absently at the edge of his glove. “Before I could do that, I had to observe how you fought. You favour side and various roundhouse kicks, and you prefer hooks to jabs. So that means I have to give you enough space. I also have to make split-second decisions regarding who deals with which bot, which involves reading your body language to see which one you’re focused on, or judging based on which bot you’re closest to.”

“Was it tough? Adjusting to someone else’s presence?”

A pink tongue darts out to wet full lips.

“Yeah. I’m used to being by myself, used to doing things by myself. I have never relied on anyone, and I have never had anyone relying on me. It’s a whole new set of responsibilities, and it still doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t want to be responsible for another person’s life, not when –” He stops, then takes a breath.

“It’s a burden, yes,” Jongin says after a moment’s pause. “But these bonds that you forge with others; it’s something you can’t get anywhere else. You get a family.”

That catches Sehun’s attention.

“I’m not a person who has families,” he says, voice clipped. He gets up and walks out of the training deck, long legs carrying him out into the hallway in just a few strides.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s past midnight, and Sehun’s one-bedroom apartment is suffocating. Rolling out of bed, he pulls on a pair of sweats and a shirt, taking care not to glance in the mirror once as he does so. The lights outside are dimmed, and there are only a couple of civilians walking about. It’s quite a walk to the military sector – located at the east end of the city –, and Sehun spends the entire duration trying to keep his mind as quiet as possible.

The combat training deck comes to life when he steps into the room, lights flickering on smoothly and touchscreens illuminating. He steps up, scans his handprint, and stares at the list of programmes that flood the screen.

_Combat Training 5_

In the beginning, Sehun never understood why the training bots were programmed to hit no harder than a severe tap against the skin. But now, as he struggles to fend the bot off, he realises that if they were programmed to hit as hard as a true enemy would, the entire army would be covered in bruises.

“How the fuck does he fight so well _and_ make it look so easy,” Sehun grunts, right foot skidding behind him as he hurries to parry. He nearly loses his balance when he executes a roundhouse kick, brows drawing together in frustration at the stumble.

Thirty minutes has never felt so long in his life. At the end of the training programme, Sehun sprawls out on the mat, grimacing at how his shirt is practically glued to his chest. He lies there, chest heaving and sweat cooling against his skin, staring up at the ceiling as he mentally runs through his performance. When he finally gets his breath back, he hauls himself upright and selects _Combat Training 5_ once more.

He trains until he’s physically unable to throw a decent punch. It’s past 3 in the morning when he climbs back into bed, freshly showered, and he knocks out almost instantly.

This becomes his new training regime: he spends the afternoons with Jongin – they’ve moved on to agility and strength training for the next week or so –, then when the city is quiet, Sehun will head to the training deck by himself and work on combat for a couple of hours. He doesn’t get much sleep this way, but he deals with it by grabbing short naps after his sessions with Jongin until dinner time rolls around.

Improving is a little hard when he can’t see first-hand what he’s doing wrong. So he makes use of the technology available to him and records himself during his late-night practices, downloading them into his tablet when he’s done. Whenever he has free time the next day, he’ll study his own movements to try and figure out what can be improved.

As it turns out, he needed someone else’s help.

“You’re keeping your centre of gravity higher than it should be.”

Startled, Sehun whirls around and spots Jongin hovering in the doorway, looking comfortable in a hoodie and sweats.

“What?”

Jongin strides over, and Sehun takes in the look of his sleep-mussed hair and the gentle curve of his smile.

“Here,” Jongin says, stepping behind Sehun and nudging his feet further apart. “You need to have good stance if you want to execute good kicks and punches. It’s like deadlifting, you know? If you don’t have good form, you’ll risk all sorts of injuries.”

Once he gets Sehun’s feet to the width he wants, Jongin steps back and gives Sehun just enough personal space for him to stay calm.

“Keep your feet staggered, angled slightly to the side, and positioned just a little wider than your hips. Make sure your weight distribution is even, and that your knees and feet are aligned. This keeps your base stable. Keep your weight on the balls of your feet – this helps you stay light on your toes.”

Sehun takes it all in, and he tests the new positioning a few times, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and feigning a couple of kicks.

“Good,” Jongin says. “May I?” He reaches out, but doesn’t approach until Sehun nods his agreement.

He’d expected it, but the touch of Jongin’s fingers against his hips still comes as a shock.

“Your hips should be positioned directly underneath your shoulders. Keeps your spine stable and provides you with better force transference. Tense your core for additional stability.” He flattens a palm across Sehun’s stomach until he feels the muscles tense, then promptly retracts his hands and steps away. “Show me your arm positions?”

Sehun obliges, lifting his arms and positioning them in front of him. Jongin studies it for a few seconds, then nods.

“Okay, not bad. Keep your elbows close to your ribs – not plastered against it, but close enough to protect your torso from side blows. Now, since your left arm is going to be your active arm, it should stay around the body’s midline, and not too far out to prevent your shoulder from fatiguing.”

Nodding, Sehun adjusts his form accordingly.

“Want to practice with me? I’ll just hold up a couple of boxing mitts and you can test out your punches and kicks as you get used to the stance.”

“Why are you even awake?” Sehun blurts, standing up and pushing his hair back. Strands stick to the base of his neck.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jongin replies easily. He strides over to a wall panel, taps the edge twice, and pulls out a pair of boxing gloves and mitts when the panel slides open. Tossing the gloves over to Sehun, he straps on the mitts. “I assume it’s the same for you. So? What do you say?”

That’s how Sehun finds himself landing punch after punch against the mitts, feet colliding solidly with the tanned leather as he follows Jongin’s instructions. They stick with this for about twenty minutes, stopping when exhaustion starts creeping up on Sehun.

“How’d it feel?” Jongin asks, taking off the mitts and gesturing for Sehun to pass the gloves over to him.

“Better,” Sehun admits, cracking a few knuckles. “Thanks.”

“We’ll keep working on it during the afternoons in a couple days,” Jongin says as he walks back from storing the equipment away. “But hey, you should know that you’re doing far better than the vast majority of the cadets who have already been admitted into the military. I’ve had to supervise a lot of combat drills, and not a lot of people can do what you can.”

“Being good enough isn’t good enough,” Sehun shrugs, grabbing his water bottle and a fresh towel. He hears Jongin hum, but whether it’s in agreement or contemplation, Sehun doesn’t quite know.

 

 

 

  
Nightmares. They’ve become such a staple in Sehun’s life that going one night without a single one is a surprise. He’s long since learned how to deal with them quickly and quietly. Not a sound escapes his lips when his eyes fly open, heart pattering away within his ribcage. He’s got the sheets in an iron grip, bare torso clammy with cold sweat, and he takes several deep breaths in a failsafe way to get his heart rate back to normal.

It’s yet another nightmare of his good-for-nothing father. Sehun hates those – he’d rather be woken up by any other nightmare. The mere thought of his father drives him up the wall. Unable to fall back asleep, he heads into his tiny shower and takes a long one. The walls are heated to a comfortable temperature, and he presses his forehead against the surface, letting water shower down on his back as he closes his eyes.

His body is wrung out from all the training he’s had in the past couple of weeks, and the lack of decent sleep isn’t helping. When he finally finds the will to drag himself out of the shower, dry off, and crawl back into bed, he blissfully falls asleep in seconds.

The next thing he wakes up to is cautious knocking on his front door.

He springs up in bed, eyes wide, and stares at the clock.

“Fuck,” he utters, scrambling out from under the covers and pulling on a pair of pants and an old tee. “Hold on!”

Almost slipping on a sock, he runs over to the door and pulls it open. There, standing in the hallway, is Jongin.

“Hey, uh, I’m really sorry I’m late, I –”

“It’s okay,” Jongin interrupts. “I know you’re not the type to miss training without a good reason. Are you falling ill?”

Sehun, after a moment’s hesitation, steps aside and gestures for Jongin to come in.

“No,” Sehun says. “I just don’t have the luxury of a getting a good night’s sleep. That’s why I’m always at the training deck at ass o’clock in the morning. Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He busies himself at his kitchenette, spending more time than necessary picking out a couple of coffee pods before slotting them into the machine.

“You don’t sleep well?”

Sehun doesn’t turn around as he shrugs. “I get a lot of nightmares. And I don’t really know what it means to ‘sleep well’. I consider it a success if I don’t wake up feeling like I’ve just been run over by a truck.”

The first cup is done in minutes. Sehun brings it over to Jongin, and when he heads back to prepare his own, he can feel eyes on his back.

“Have you considered seeing a doctor?”

“Considered it? Yes, I have.”

The counter is cold against the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. It’s enough to send a shot of clarity into his mind. He exhales.

“I… never had the means to visit a doctor.”

His coffee maker beeps, and Sehun takes a large sip of caffeine. After it coats his insides with warmth, he turns around and leans against the counter, eyeing the Lieutenant sitting at his tiny table. There are questions evident in Jongin’s eyes, but he only asks one of them.

“Have you been to the clinic here?”

Apparently, Jongin doesn’t need a verbal answer to know the truth.

“Take the day off,” Jongin says, taking another sip of his coffee. “After you get ready, we’ll take a trip to the military’s clinic – there’s less of a crowd there. I want you as healthy as possible, especially if you end up getting accepted into the army.”

Sehun, at a loss for words, can only nod in agreement.

 

 

 

  
“This would not be possible just a few years ago,” Sehun mumbles thoughtfully, lying back as his doctor, a tall blonde by the name of Emmeryn, fiddles with a few cables.

“You’re correct,” she says, sticking a few surface electrodes onto his chest. “This kind of technology would’ve taken us decades to perfect if we weren’t under such pressure to create it. The medical world used above ground would not be viable down here in such a closed-off environment; we needed a system that would deal with most issues at a much faster pace.”

The healing pod is spacious enough for Sehun to not have to curl his legs up – he appreciates that _very_ much.

“Alright,” Emmeryn declares, grabbing her tablet. “I can help improve your quality of sleep, but I cannot get rid of your nightmares. I have a few self-coping methods I can introduce to you after if you’d like. Now, I have logged some breakdowns in your tissue reparative mechanisms. I can patch those up too.”

She rolls up in her chair, a serious look shuttering over her green eyes. “I also see multiple healed fractures that…”

“My mother set them,” Sehun answers, already knowing where this is headed.

“Is she a doctor?”

“No. She had to learn how to do so from books.”

Emmeryn sighs. “I don’t want to press, because I know how hard it can be for victims to talk about it, but I do suggest talking about it. It doesn’t have to be me; just someone you can trust.”

Sehun closes his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Would you like me to remove your scars?”

Removing his scars. Sehun finds himself actually contemplating it.

“No, that’s alright. They are part of who I am. Removing them doesn’t remove the experiences.”

There’s a heavy, pregnant pause in the room.

“Alright. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get the process started soon.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Two incredibly fragrant plates of food appear in front of him, and Jongin follows the hands up to see Jongdae standing there, looking a little flushed from heat.

“Sorry for the wait man, you know how lunch rush can be.”

Jongdae owns his own restaurant in the north sector of the city, a quaint place that serves quite a variety of cuisines. He loves food too much to stick to one type, or so he says.

“Kana! You’re in charge of the kitchen for the next hour – I’m going on my break.”

“Okay!” His sous chef yells back, and Jongdae flops into a seat.

Jongin waves off his friend’s apology and digs into his food, slurping happily around a mouthful of handmade noodles. While Sehun’s at the clinic, Jongin figured he could spend his free time enjoying some good food and catching up with an old friend while doing so. Grinning at his enthusiasm, Jongdae joins him in eating, and for a moment, that’s all they do.

“So how’s babysitting?” Jongdae asks, sitting back and taking a long drink from his glass of iced water. “I heard from Chanyeol – who heard from Kleine – that he can be quite hard to deal with. Well, at least no one’s been able to figure out how to deal with him.”

“Started off a little rough,” Jongin admits, fishing out a large slice of shitake mushroom. “But it’s getting much better. It no longer feels like he’s ready to grate my face off at any time, you know?”

The metal of Jongdae’s spoon clinks against the ceramic bowl as he sets it down.

“He’s lucky he has you to keep him on track,” Jongdae says. “You’ve always been a very patient person. Remember that time you helped me with _one_ trigonometry question for thirty minutes? Even Junmyeon gave up halfway through.”

Jongdae and Junmyeon are soulmates, and they’ve known since freshman year in high school when Baekhyun jabbed Jongdae hard enough in the hand to pierce the skin. The pair, seated side-by-side, yelled at the same time and everyone around the table froze. They’d accepted the news easily, comfortable with each other enough to be willing to gradually take things further. Now, almost a decade later, they’re still going strong.

“I remember,” Jongin says with a wince. “That really took a toll on me. It was one question!”

He gets a few drops of water to the face in revenge for his quip.

“But yeah, I hope it keeps going well,” he finishes. “He’s hard-working, and it seems like he really wants it. It’ll be a shame to see him fail again.”

 

 

 

  
When Jongin heads to the training deck the next day, he’s surprised to see Sehun already there, working hard at beating up a punching bag.

“You’re here early,” Jongin says. Sehun’s gaze flicks over to him momentarily. His cheeks are flushed with colour, and the shadows under his eyes seem to have faded somewhat. “You look a lot better.”

Sehun’s response is a flurry of punches.

“Yeah,” he pants, straightening and placing a palm against the bag to steady it. “Whatever that healing pod did, it’s working. I slept quite well last night, so I thought I’d come earlier to make up for the lost session yesterday.”

“No more nightmares?”

A broad shoulder lifts in a shrug. “No, still have them. They’ll probably always be there. But the sleep I _do_ get is much better. I’ll have to go back next week for a follow-up, but Emmeryn said I won’t require continuous treatment.”

Jongin sets up the mats on the floor – they warm up with ten to fifteen minutes of hand-to-hand combat –, acutely aware of Sehun moving about behind him.

“That’s great news,” Jongin says, “sleep really makes a huge difference.”

“Yeah.” Sehun appears in his line of view, the tight lines of his body swathed in midnight black. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jongin replies, returning the strong gaze Sehun’s got on him. After a moment, a beat, Sehun nods and gets into position.

 

 

 

  
It becomes a routine. Jongin deals with paperwork and checks in on his squad after breakfast – the army is in the process of sorting through the intel they’d retrieved during their previous batch of missions, so squads are enjoying a bit of downtime. Soldiers, of course, are still expected to keep up with their daily practices, and Jongin’s squad is no exception.

After a quick lunch of energy fuelling food, he’ll meet up with Sehun for a few hours. They’ll part ways with enough time left for Jongin to take a quick shower before his friends start expecting him for dinner.

It’s nice; Jongin likes routine.

Around the halfway point of his arrangement with Sehun, Kleine makes an impromptu visit. They’re at the gun range, and Jongin’s standing off to the side with his earplugs in as he watches Sehun empty a magazine into the target about a hundred feet away.

So the tap to his shoulder causes him to scream embarrassingly loud. At least Sehun doesn’t hear him. He turns around to see Kleine staring at him, lips trembling in a horrible attempt to suppress their laughter.

Disgruntled and slightly embarrassed, Jongin gestures to the door.

Once they’re out of the range, Jongin pulls the plugs out of his ears and turns to his CO.

“What’re you doing here?”

“It’s been four weeks, Jongin.” Kleine shifts a stack of files from one arm to another. “It’s time for me to check in, don’t you think? How’s he doing?”

At that moment, Sehun sets the gun down and turns around. The brief look of surprise that crosses his features when he registers Jongin’s absence disappears immediately when he spots them outside.

Jongin nods, then points to the plasma gun resting next to the regular one Sehun had just used. Understanding, Sehun picks it up, loads it, and changes the settings of the gun range to match the weapon he’s got in his hands.

“He’s doing really well, actually.”

“No attitude?”

“There was some,” Jongin admits, leaning against the wall. “In the beginning. I just gave him the space I knew he needed. Once he realised I’m not a threat and that I’m only there to help, things got better.”

Kleine purses their lips in thought.

“I don’t think he’s had a lot of people in his life that…” Jongin mulls over his words. “That were patient enough to wait for him.”

At that, Kleine sighs. “Yeah. It doesn’t help that he keeps a lot of things close to the vest, as you can tell from all the blank sections in his file. People find it hard to open up when the other party is so unwilling to do so.”

“He’s quite guarded,” Jongin agrees, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

They stand there for a few minutes, watching through the technologically fortified glass as Sehun shoots balls of plasma at concrete targets. The targets dissolve almost instantly.

“I have faith in him,” Jongin says suddenly. “He’s doing really well. I’m still working on the lone wolf thing, but I can already see the changes. It’s easier to work with him during partner drills, and he’s open to listening to my suggestions and whatnot. We still have a few weeks – I’ll get him there, Kleine.”

There’s a warm hand on the curve of his shoulder. “I don’t doubt it, Lieutenant.”

Kleine leaves, the heels of their combat boots clicking sharply against the floor.

When Jongin re-enters the gun range, Sehun’s just fired his last shot.

“Good job,” Jongin says when Sehun removes his earplugs. “How do you feel about sniping? Is that something you’re interested in?”

Sehun glances over at the sniper rifles. “Not particularly. I’d rather be in the heat of things. But someone told me I have to know how to snipe to qualify? I know my sniping scores weren’t great, so I’m willing to –”

“You don’t have to be able to snipe to qualify,” Jongin interjects, frowning. “Who told you that?”

That has Sehun looking a little discombobulated. “What?”

“Snipers receive special – additional – training.”

Something flits across Sehun’s face, and from what he’s able to glimpse, Jongin thinks it’s _hurt_. But it vanishes in a heartbeat and Sehun’s poker-face returns.

“Right,” Sehun says. “I’ll just stick to these then.” He gestures stiffly to the firearms lying on the counter. Jongin runs his bottom lip through his teeth and nods.

 

 

 

  
Pieri’s neon pink hair seems brighter than usual under all these fluorescent lights.

“Hey,” Kiragi says, passing Pieri a gun from the armoury before grabbing one for himself. “How do you think today’s gonna go? I’ve heard he’s not easy to work with.”

She shrugs and loads her gun with magazines made specifically for simulation runs. “If Jongin thinks he’s ready for a team exercise, I’m sure he is. And you should really stop believing rumours. They’re called rumours for a reason.”

Kiragi stares after her as she walks away. Man, they’ve been in the same team for years and she still scares the hell out of him. Somehow, her small stature – she’s a solid 5 feet tall – makes her even scarier.

He hurries after her, and they make it to the simulation bay with minutes to spare. Jongin is already there, and an equally imposing figure is with him.

“He’s tall,” Kiragi blurts. Pink blurs in front of him as Pieri turns around to look at him and roll her eyes.

“You’re so observant,” she deadpans, and Kiragi fights back the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

Two pairs of eyes flick over to them when they enter, and Kiragi barely manages to stop himself from staring at the new guy as they walk over.

“Kiragi, Pieri,” Jongin says, shouldering his rifle and gesturing to them respectively. “This is Sehun. Sehun, these two are members of my squad. They’ll be running today’s simulation with us, and they will be providing me with any additional feedback they might have after the simulation run is complete. It’s the sixth week of our arrangement, which means that if you are successful in joining the army in just a couple of weeks’ time, you’ll be assigned to a team. I have told them to evaluate you under the assumption that you are an enlisted soldier looking to join our team – they’ll want someone who works well with them, have their backs, and won’t butt heads.”

Pieri offers her hand, and Sehun takes it. “Hel _lo_ ,” she says, stressing the second syllable.

“Pleasure,” he says, and she grins slowly at him. Sehun blinks, a little nonplussed, and almost immediately releases his grip on her hand. Kiragi simply waves in greeting, and Sehun inclines his head in response. Behind them, Jongin rolls his eyes.

“Alright, follow me.” Turning on his heel, Jongin walks to the middle of the room and hits a button on the slim remote in his hands. A transparent screen descends from the ceiling, and a detailed map flickers to life on the surface.

“The bright green lines are the training course’s boundaries,” Jongin explains, mostly for Sehun’s benefit. “This course is designed to simulate both the terrain and the layout of the city above ground. There are six hostages to save and thirteen hostiles to take down. We move in a group and only split up if I say so. The goal is to work together in order to accomplish these tasks.”

The screen dims slightly in preparation for the start of the simulation, and the four of them head over to the far end of the room. As Jongin tinkers with the touchpad, Sehun fiddles with his gun, checking it for what seems like the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes.

“So,” Pieri begins, leaning into Sehun’s personal bubble. “How’s training with our lovely squad leader?”

“Uh,” Sehun utters. He tries to move back, but the wall is in the way. Next to Pieri, Kiragi winces in sympathy. “It’s –”

“Stop making him uncomfortable,” Jongin says, fingers flying across the screen. Pieri pouts. A beep sounds, and the whole simulation bay is plunged into darkness. “Ready up. Sehun, you’re up with me.”

Guns are cocked, and everyone moves into position.

“You ready?”

Sehun glances over at the Lieutenant. “Yeah.”

A ghost of a smile flits across Jongin’s lips before he turns back to face the entrance to the course. “Okay. Here we go.”

 

 

 

  
“Kiragi, take Sehun and head west. Get your hostage and rendezvous back here in five minutes. Pieri, you’re with me. ”

“Yes, Sir.”

They split up, and Jongin manages to catch a last-minute glimpse of the other two in the corner of his eye before they disappear around a corner. He lets Pieri lead, following her pink head of hair as they manoeuvre around piles and piles of rubble. There’s an _iseijin_ – well, a simulation of one – a few hundred feet away, and Jongin taps Pieri twice on the shoulder before lifting his rifle. She nods and moves ahead to find cover.

The speed and efficiency in taking down the _iseijin_ is a clear a nod to how much time they’ve trained together. Sure, they’re still a relatively young squad having only formed three years ago, but they’ve trained very hard to get to where they are in terms of their bonds with each other. Jongin trusts all of his teammates with his life when they’re above ground and facing real danger, and he’s immensely proud of how far they’ve come.

They clear their assigned sector, retrieve their hostage, and head back to the rendezvous point with seconds to spare. Kiragi and Sehun are already there, the former slumped against a large rock and the latter staring up at the map.

“Almost done!” Pieri chirps. A bead of sweat races down the side of her face, and she flicks it away absently.

“Okay, everybody on my six,” Jongin says, and Kiragi springs to his feet. “Let’s get this mission done and dusted.”

 

 

 

  
Behind them, the simulation fades into pale pixels before disappearing completely. Guns are disassembled and empty magazines are tossed into a bin that wheels itself away.

“That went really well,” Jongin says, draining half of his sports drink in one go. The bottle trembles on the edge of the bench when he sets it down. “Got all the hostages out without any issues – and within the recommended time range, too.”

Pieri celebrates with a cheer, sounding far too chippy for someone who had just gone through rigorous training for the past hour.

“You two,” Jongin says, looking over at his squad members. “Send me your feedback within the week.”

“Will do,” Pieri says, giving Sehun an exaggerated wink before traipsing off.

After shaking Sehun’s hand and waving goodbye to Jongin, Kiragi shuffles off in her wake.

“You did well out there,” Jongin says once they’re alone in the simulation bay. He sinks down onto the bench and lets out a sigh of relief once his tired feet get to take a breather. “I know this – all the teamwork stuff – isn’t the thing you signed up for, but you’re getting a lot better at it.”

Sehun’s movements are slow as he rubs the towel through his hair.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment of contemplation. “It’s not what I signed up for.” Balling up the towel, he throws it into a bin several feet away. Arcing neatly into the air, it lands inside with a soft flump. “But I’m glad I’m doing this.”

When Jongin glances up in surprise, he doesn’t expect to see Sehun gazing right back at him, irises almost onyx beneath the shadows of his hair.

“Growing up, I believed in a few things that perhaps no longer applies to the life I have here.” There’s a heaviness to his words; whether it’s regret or hurt or perhaps something else, Jongin has no idea. “I grew up believing that my mother was the only person I could trust. She was the only one who loved me, who cared for me. Letting anyone else in, even my soulmate, seemed… like something out of my grasp. Dangerous, even. But my mother is no longer in this world, and the biggest source of danger is now up there –” Sehun glances up at the ceiling, “– and not in my home. Up there, where I’d _need_ to let other people in if I ever want to achieve something in life.”

There’s colour splashed across Sehun’s cheeks that wasn’t there moments ago and the line of his shoulders rises high. The man clears his throat, eyes darting everywhere but at Jongin, and Jongin is suddenly reminded of a cat that’s itching to run away.

“Do you wanna grab some food?” Jongin blurts.

That coaxes an unexpected burst of laughter out of Sehun, effectively shutting Jongin up. He’s never heard the other man laugh before, and it’s pleasant.

“Let’s take things step by step,” he says. “What I’ve just told you? It’s something I’ve never said out loud. To anyone. It’s progress, I guess. Having a meal is a step for another day. See you tomorrow, Jongin.”

He takes his leave as Jongin remains in the room, mind reeling.

 

 

 

  
It’s Sunday night, and Jongin finds himself stuck between Kyungsoo and Chanyeol on the couch as the rest tangle up in a pile on the carpet in front of the television. He’s more than stuck, actually – Chanyeol’s a big guy, and his legs alone take up too much damn space on his little piece of furniture. In fact, it’s a small miracle that all his friends are able to fit in his apartment.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Jongin wheezes, wriggling free and nearly tripping over Chanyeol’s foot. “Anyone want a beer?”

Six hands shoot into the air – Kyungsoo’s the only one who doesn’t raise his hand.

“I’ll help you,” he offers instead. The second he gets off the couch, Yixing and Minseok scramble to fill the vacated seats. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes spectacularly and follows Jongin into the kitchen.

They collect the alcohol, and Kyungsoo puts his beer capping skills to good use. For a man who hates beer, Kyungsoo sure knows how to pop caps off beer bottles like he’s a walking bottle opener.

Jongin picks up four bottles and Kyungsoo deals with the remainder, having just enough room left in his grasp to pick up a bag of chips. They make it a few steps out of the kitchen before a searing pain rips across his chest, just below his clavicle, the skin splitting open and releasing a flow of blood that his shirt is unable to staunch.

Beer bottles tumble onto the ground, decorating the floors with glass shards and fizzing amber.

“Shit,” Kyungsoo utters, depositing his armful of food onto a nearby counter. He reaches out just in time to grab Jongin by the arm as he topples backwards in agony.

Chanyeol rushes over and manages to heft Jongin over to the couch where Junmyeon’s waiting, a first-aid kit in his lap.

“What did you cut yourself on?” Junmyeon asks, yanking Jongin’s shirt up.

“It’s not me,” Jongin gasps, the lights in the room suddenly far too bright.

“ _Shit_ ,” Kyungsoo repeats.

So Junmyeon does the only thing that he can do in this situation: he presses a fat wad of gauze to the wound, switching it out when it becomes too saturated with blood. The others help out by mopping up the mess by the kitchen door – Jongin barely registers the sound of broken glass clinking against the inside of his garbage bin through the thick pounding in his ears.

He stares through a haze of pain as his skin begins stitching itself back together after fifteen minutes. The bin rolls over and inhales the bloodied gauze sitting by Junmyeon’s feet.

Wordlessly, Junmyeon cleans up traces of dried blood where the wound once was. His skin is now smooth, unmarred, and everyone’s left a little shaken.

“What do you think happened?” Baekhyun says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I hope they’re alright,” Chanyeol sighs. He looks over at Jongin. “You want me to check with the clinics? Emmeryn owes me a favour, I could cash in on that.”

“No,” Jongin rasps. “That’s not how I –” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the meaning behind it is evident.

The action flick on the television continues playing, filling the silence with obnoxiously loud explosions and the steady pattering of shots being fired.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a blessing that tomorrow’s a Sunday, Sehun thinks. He’s absolutely drained from that scuffle he had outside the fucking supermarket just less than an hour ago. The gash on his chest is no longer gaping wide – whatever topical cream that comes in these first-aid kits that each apartment has is practically magical, managing to seal the wound in mere seconds. His shirt is a lost cause though, bloodied from its sudden job as a compress. He tosses it into the trash and hangs his towel up on its hook behind the bathroom door.

Sighing, Sehun shuffles over to his bed and collapses onto it, wincing when the movement tugs on the flesh around his wound. At least he’d managed to draw that creep away from the teenaged girl; even now, he dreads to think what might have happened if he had gotten his grubby hands on her.

He falls asleep quickly, the exhaustion from the day having settled deep into his bones. For the first time in years, he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares.

It’s almost noon when he’s roused from sleep by gentle knocks on his door. His legs are heavy when he swings them off the bed, the floor cold against the soles of his feet as he pads over to his closet and haphazardly pulls on a loose tank.

The aroma of fresh coffee hits him square in the face the moment he opens his front door, and Sehun stares happily at the cup that’s held out to him.

“Thanks,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. “But uh, what are you doing here?”

“Well,” Jongin replies, leaning against the doorframe with his own cup of coffee in his hands. “We’re one week away from the end of our partnership and ten days from Judgement Day. Before we find out if we’re both successful, I think it’s time to grab that meal, don’t you?”

There’s something in the casual way Jongin says it that convinces Sehun to agree.

“I have to get ready first,” Sehun says, stepping aside and gesturing for Jongin to enter. “Hope you don’t mind waiting.”

He turns towards the bathroom, but he barely makes it three steps before he hears Jongin hacking his lungs out behind him. The Lieutenant’s face is burning red when he resurfaces for air, and there’s something about his gaze that has Sehun’s heart speeding up.

“You alright?” His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth.

“Yeah.” The word comes out as a rasp. “Coffee went down the wrong pipe.”

Sehun hesitates, unsure of what to do, but Jongin just flaps a hand in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go ahead. I’m fine.”

 

 

 

  
Above them is the sun, shining warmly through cotton candy clouds. It’s all a computer simulation of course, but the warmth almost makes it feel real.

The café’s packed, so Sehun offers to look for an available bench in the nearby park as Jongin gets them something to eat. To his surprise, he actually manages to find one, and he pings Jongin’s tablet with his exact location so that the guy won’t be wandering around looking lost.

He’s halfway to dozing off, the (fake) sun’s warmth a comforting blanket around his shoulders, when Jongin appears with a bag of pastries and more coffee.

“Are you a caffeine addict or are you a caffeine addict,” Sehun deadpans, accepting the proffered cup anyway.

“It’s important to me,” Jongin sniffs.

Somehow, Sehun can’t seem to fight back the smile that’s threatening to slip free, so he ducks his head and rummages about in the bag of pastries as a distraction.

“So what’s this supposed to be?” He asks, waving a scone between them.

Jongin takes a hefty bite out of a croissant and hums. “Anything you want it to be.”

“I don’t do well with vagueness,” Sehun tells him. His gaze lands on a balloon that’s slipped free of its child’s hands – it soars up, up, up, and Sehun tears his eyes away from it before an invisible electrical wire or two pops it.

“I guess I’d like to get to know you better,” Jongin says after a moment’s consideration. “Unless you’re someone that really does prefer solitude?”

Sehun remains silent for a while, methodically chewing on the scone, bite after bite.

“Alright,” he finally says. “What would you like to know?”

That question seems to throw Jongin off-kilter. From the corner of his eye, Sehun watches with amusement as he tries to gather his thoughts and formulate a comprehensible question.

What ends up coming out is: “Why do you wear the same thing every day?”

Sehun nearly spits out his coffee.

“Seriously?”

The shrug Jongin gives him is one tinged with helplessness. “I mean, that question _has_ been running through my mind for the past few weeks.”

Plucking a chocolate chip out of his scone, Sehun pops it in his mouth and leans back against the bench.

“I have other clothes,” he says. “I mean, I don’t wear this to sleep, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I just have multiples of this –” he gestures to himself with a sweep of his hand “– because I grew up with essentially only the one outfit I was allowed to wear out. Guess I got used to it.”

At that, Jongin’s shoulders seem to sag.

“I see.”

Sehun slides his gaze over to the other man.

“So… did you have a tough childhood?”

The laugh that Sehun lets out is so bitter – he can practically taste it through the sweetness of the scone.

“You could say that, yeah.”

Jongin’s fingers tap out a nervous beat against his thigh.

“Hey,” he says, and Sehun can’t help but meet his gaze. “I’m guessing you don’t really like to talk about it, but if you do need someone to talk to…”

A hand lands on his shoulder, thumb pressing on the edge of his wound. Sehun flinches and Jongin rips his hand away like it’s been burned.

“Sorry,” Jongin says hurriedly. “Did you, uh, hurt yourself?”

“Yeah. Some creep wouldn’t let this girl go at the supermarket. I butted in, he had a knife –”

“But you’re okay?” There’s urgency to his tone, and Sehun can’t for the life of him figure out why it’s there.

“I’m fine,” Sehun says, noting how the worry in Jongin’s gaze seems to lessen just minutely. That only serves to confuse him even more.

The Lieutenant nods silently, coffee cup rising to rest against the curve of his lip. Two puppies are play wrestling not too far away from them, and as Jongin watches them, Sehun watches him. Never in his life did Sehun expect he’d make it to the age of twenty-five, much less be sitting next to someone who wants him to succeed.

“Anything else you’re curious about?” Sehun asks, setting his empty cup down by the foot of the bench.

“Oh,” Jongin voices. His eyes follow the puppies around. “This morning – I noticed you have a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What’s it of?”

“Nothing, really.” Sehun says, resting an ankle over a knee. “I got it done to cover up a large scar. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Jongin twists his body towards him, finally looking away from the frolicking pups.

“Can I see it?”

Sehun’s instinctive answer is a no, but there’s some sort of need to Jongin’s request that has him turning, back facing the other man. Reaching back with a hand, he pulls on his shirt just enough for a part of the tattoo to show.

“I’m not comfortable removing my shirt, so –”

“I understand,” Jongin says quickly.

Sehun can’t help the shiver that ripples down his arms at the feeling of Jongin’s fingers, gentle against the nape of his neck. It leaves goosebumps in its wake.

He feels the slide of fingertips along the scar, feels it press against the raised edge of connective tissue, feels it skid along puckered skin. Jongin’s touch is so light, so much so that Sehun finds himself closing his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

  

 

He raps on Kleine’s door, barging in before they get a chance to acknowledge the knocks.

“What –”

“We have a big problem on our hands,” Jongin says, the words rushing out of him. His heart’s pounding – he can feel it rattling his teeth.

Kleine stares at him, and Jongin sees them taking in the brightness of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks, and the unchecked panic in his voice.

_Are you okay? Who’s hurting you? Please reply if you can see this._

“I think – fuck, Kleine – I think Sehun’s my soulmate.”

 

 

 

  
There’s a steaming mug of tea in his hands, and Jongin momentarily wonders just how much caffeine he’s going to ingest today.

“Okay,” Kleine says, settling into their chair. Red hair tumbles down over their shoulders when they lean forward across the desk, a contemplative look in their eyes. “Talk me through this.”

It takes almost fifteen minutes for Jongin to relay the whole story, including the suspicions he’s had since their soulbond flared to life all those years ago. By the time he stops for a breath, his tea is lukewarm.

“I see.” Kleine’s brows pull together as they slump back into their chair and glance up at the ceiling. “Hm. Have you told him?”

“No,” Jongin sighs, staring at the dregs of tea left in his cup. “How do I even go about doing that?”

“It’s not easy, given the circumstances of your soulbond,” Kleine agrees. “I guess the question now is; how do you want to proceed?”

Dragging a hand through his hair, Jongin sets the cup down and looks balefully at his friend. “I mean, is this not a conflict of interest? Do I still go through with our arrangement? If he makes it into the army, what then? Do I have to report our soulbond? If –”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Kleine interrupts, holding up a hand. Jongin stares at the fingers hovering just a few inches away from his nose. “Hold your horses. No one else knows about the bond, yes?”

Jongin nods his head.

“Right. Well, seeing as there’s just a week left, I’d say continue with the arrangement. Of course, I also suggest telling him about your bond – I think he has the right to know. As for what happens if he does make the ranks… Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to disclose your bond if you haven’t spoken to him about it by then, and I’ll make sure he gets assigned to a team that isn’t yours. I’m sure you understand why that’s preferable? Like you said, conflict of interest and all.”

God, his mind is all over the place. He wouldn’t be surprised if a headache pops up in the next three minutes.

“Yeah, I get it.”

His legs feel like lead, but he rises from the chair and takes a breath. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Hey, congrats on finding your soulmate,” Kleine says, soft and kind. “It’s a good thing, Jongin.”

His throat seizes, and he suddenly feels like crying.

_Are you okay? Who’s hurting you? Please reply if you can see this._

“Thanks.”

 

 

 

  
Sleep doesn’t come to him that night. Jongin lies awake in bed for hours, skin running too hot for the covers, gaze fixated on the ceiling as he mentally catalogues and re-catalogues all the marks that have appeared on his body over the past 14 years. Some part of him was ready for this, has been since he was 11 and still naive, ready for the day he’d bump into his soulmate, ready for the day he’d have to approach them with the knowledge that he’d gone through everything they had.

But now, faced with the actual reality of it all, Jongin realises he’s nowhere _near_ ready for it.

It’s four in the morning when he shucks the covers and climbs out of bed. He needs to do something, needs to distract himself from all the horrible things he knows that Sehun’s gone through, needs to stop himself from thinking about the fact that he was unable to do anything to help him all these years.

_Are you okay? Who’s hurting you? Please reply if you can see this._

He pulls on sweats and a tee, slips into his running shoes, and makes a beeline for the track. His legs keep him upright and moving, thighs burning as his feet pound against the track’s surface over and over again. He runs until his mind stops screaming, until his knees buckle and he collapses into a heap on the ground. Hair is plastered against his neck, against the edges of his face, and his shirt is absolutely soaked.

By the time he drags himself out of the shower, he still hasn’t managed to figure out what he wants to do. Frustrated, he sits himself down by his desk and buries himself in paperwork until the city gradually wakes.

 

 

 

  
“You look like shit,” Sehun says when he enters the simulation bay. There’s nothing new to be taught during their last week together, so they’ve decided to spend the days recapping what they’ve done; running simulations is the most efficient way to do so.

Jongin winces. “Didn’t sleep well,” he mumbles, fingers curling tighter around his thermos. He drags his eyes up Sehun’s frame, stopping where he knows the newest wound is. “How’s your injury?”

Sehun lifts a hand, fingers grazing where the healing gash lies. Jongin can almost feel the touch on his own body – it’s hard to forget the pain that they had both experienced just a couple of days ago.

“It’s healing. No complications so far; I’m hoping it stays that way.”

“You sure you’ll be able to run a course today?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sehun says, pulling on his combat gloves and stretching out his shoulders. “Will you?”

Nodding, Jongin takes another swig of coffee and gets to his feet.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s make sure the higher-ups won’t be able to find anything to stop you from becoming one of us.” _It’s the least I can do_ , remains on the tip of his tongue, and Jongin physically bites it back.

 

 

 

  
The week passes by so quickly that Jongin almost gets whiplash.

“Can’t believe it’s been eight weeks,” he muses.

“Neither can I,” Sehun agrees. Wiping sweat off his brow, he gestures to the training mat. “Wanna spar for what could possibly be the last time?”

“Don’t say that,” Jongin chastises. “You’ll make it, I know it.”

They make their way over to the mat, and it’s with a familiar ease that they take up their sparring stances facing each other.

“Have you ever yielded to anyone?” Sehun asks, easily dodging a kick.

“No,” Jongin grins. “You gonna try?” He parries Sehun’s onslaught of blows.

“Of course I am.”

“Of course you are.”

Thirteen minutes later, Jongin’s got Sehun’s arm pinned behind him and a knee pressed against the small of his back.

“Yield?”

“I yield,” Sehun sighs, and Jongin lets him go.

Then promptly finds himself sprawled on his stomach, legs flopping down onto the mat when Sehun straddles his waist and holds his wrists together in an iron grip.

“That was dirty,” Jongin quips, lips smushed against the mat.

“No such thing as fair play up there,” Sehun points out, and Jongin hums in agreement. Sehun releases his grip on Jongin’s wrist and lets him up.

They gather their things in companionable silence, and Jongin spends a few minutes shutting everything down. Sehun’s waiting by the doors, sweaty yet still modelesque with his lithe, sinewy frame, highlighted by the tight fit of his clothes. Jongin literally shakes himself to rid his mind of those thoughts.

“Hey,” Sehun says, glancing up at him through damp locks of hair. “I just want to, uh, thank you for taking the time to help a case like me. I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, so I really appreciate –”

“Least I could do,” Jongin blurts. The words are barely out of his mouth when he freezes.

“What?”

“I mean,” he hurries to say, “it’s the least I could do after you weren’t given a chance to prove yourself all those other times.”

“Right.”

They walk out of the training deck – Sehun looks back over his shoulder to give it one last appraisal.

“Good luck,” Jongin says when they get to a fork in the road. “I’m not allowed to be on the board this year, for obvious reasons. I really do hope you make it.”

“No pressure,” Sehun comments, lips quirking.

Jongin laughs. “Let me know how you do, yeah?”

Sehun responds with an extended hand, palm angled upwards, and Jongin looks down at it in mild wonder.

“Thanks again,” Sehun says when Jongin takes his hand. “For everything. I’ll see you around?”

Left breathless with the small smile Sehun graces him with, Jongin can only nod.

As he watches Sehun’s retreating back, all that runs through Jongin’s mind is _Are you okay? Who’s hurting you? Please reply if you can see this._

 

 

 

  
A child bolts past him, shrieking at the top of her lungs, and Baekhyun spares him a desperate glance before chasing after her.

“I, uh, came to see you,” Jongin says, leaning against the wall as Junmyeon hefts a stack of picture books onto the table. “I want to ask you something.”

Junmyeon looks up at him, ever-perceptive, and instantly picks out the conflict in Jongin’s eyes. His gaze softens.

“Of course,” he replies, sweeping a whole bunch of markers off the table and into his hand effortlessly. “If you don’t mind talking while I clean up?”

Across the room, Baekhyun herds the kids outside for playtime. Jongin settles into a small, bright pink chair and accepts a juice box that Junmyeon offers him.

“So what’s been bugging you?”

Jongin swallows his mouthful of apple juice and exhales.

“Remember what happened a couple weeks ago?” He runs the tip of his finger from the edge of his clavicle towards his sternum as a reminder. Junmyeon nods, eyes on his friend as he wipes down tables.

“I know who the person is.”

Junmyeon’s lips form an O, and the cloth in his hand slows to a stop on the tabletop.

“It’s the guy I’ve been training,” Jongin says. He fiddles with the straw until it breaks.

“The problem cadet?”

“He’s not a _problem_ –” Jongin pauses to take a calming breath. “I don’t know how to approach him with this. It’s… harder than the average case.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s… I’m pretty sure he was abused as a child,” Jongin says, staring down at the crayon covered table.

“Shit,” Junmyeon utters, and Jongin glances up to see the colour drain from his friend’s face. “That’s… hard.”

“Yeah. I came to you since you and Jongdae are the only ones out of all of us so far to have found your soulmates. I was hoping for some sort of advice if you have any to give. You know, regarding bringing it up and all.”

Junmyeon eases himself down onto a lime green chair.

“Our situations are completely different,” he says. “I’m not sure how I can be of much help, despite how much I want to. Have you thought about Yixing? He knows who his soulmate is.”

Groaning, Jongin drops his head into his hands. “Yeah, but he doesn’t believe in the soulbond. I just don’t know who to go to.”

“You could just… go with your gut. Wouldn’t it be better to say something that comes from you rather than something that someone else suggests?”

“Sure, but this is such a delicate issue. I can’t just say whatever that wants to come out of my mouth.”

He stands abruptly, a sudden thought blooming to life in his mind.

“I gotta go,” he says, stumbling over a stuffed elephant in his haste to get to the door. “Thanks for listening to me.”

He’s gone before Junmyeon’s able to formulate a response.

 

 

 

  
“Emmeryn,” Jongin exclaims, barging into her office. “I really need your help.”

He startles her so badly that her pen skids across the report beneath it, drawing a jagged blue line across the page.

“Oh, for fuck’s – _Jongin!_ ”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I should’ve knocked.”

She glares at him. “You think?! Look at my papers!”

“I’m sorry! I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll write all your reports for you for the next two weeks or something. I just really need your help right now. Please?”

She scrutinises him over the rim of her glasses, eyes narrowed in thought. Then she sighs, the creases between her brows disappearing.

“Go on, then.”

“You remember Sehun? The guy I brought here for his sleep issues?”

Emmeryn nods. “Something happen to him?”

“Yes,” Jongin says. “Well, no. Well, kinda.”

He gets a pen to the face for his eloquence.

“I wanted to ask you if you noticed anything about him that indicated a history of abuse,” Jongin says, words rushing out in a breath.

“That – Jongin, you know information like that is confidential.”

“He's my soulmate, Em.” Emmeryn’s eyes bug out of their sockets at that piece of news. “It’s… a long story, but I need to know what you think about the situation. On a professional level and all.”

“If you're his soulmate, then you would've felt…”

“Yeah, Em. I felt everything. Ever since I was 11. I felt everything and I couldn't help him. Then, I didn't know how to help him. Now, I don't know how to tell him.”

There's a stagnant pause before Emmeryn twists around in her seat and thumbs through a stack of files on the side of her desk.

“This is his file,” she says. “There isn't much in there, but I documented every injury I was able to see and included notes about how he should deal with the trauma. I did suggest he talk to someone about it all, but he wasn't perceptive to the suggestion.”

The file feels like a thousand pound weight in his hands.

“Thanks.”

 

 

 

  
The file lies on Jongin's coffee table for days. He stares at it nightly, but he's unable to bring himself to open it.

Two weeks after the last time he saw Sehun, Jongin stops by Kleine’s office and spots the list of newly enlisted cadets pinned up on the bulletin board. He doesn't scan the list for a particular name.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside their office. “Heard there's a new mission?”

“Ah, yes. We deploy in… ten days. Reconnaissance, just to get the new recruits used to how we run things above ground. Four ground squads and one in the air, heading out towards Delta One. It's been a while since we've been up, so we will need to see if there are any major changes regarding the _iseijins_ ’ positioning around the towers. With this new batch of recruits, we have enough to start the assault phase, or Phase Two, so we'll be working towards that over the next few weeks and months.”

Kleine looks away from their computer screen and glances up at Jongin.

“Have you spoken to him yet?”

Jongin pulls a face. “No, not yet.”

“He didn't come to find you?”

“No… Why, did you think he would?”

Kleine shrugs, a little too casually.

Of course, because this is how the world works, when Jongin returns home, he finds Sehun leaning against the wall. He's dressed in his usual wardrobe of black, but there's a sharpness in his features that weren't there the last time they met.

“Hey,” Jongin ventures. Sehun’s head snaps up from where he's fiddling with his tablet. “Have you been waiting long?

“Oh hey. No, it's only been about ten minutes. Are you free right now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jongin unlocks his door with his palm and steps in, holding the door open for Sehun. Before Sehun can lay eyes on it, Jongin swipes the file off his table and stashes it in a drawer.

“What's this about?”

“I thought you'd like to know if I made it in.”

As Jongin takes a seat, Sehun chooses to remain standing.

“I did it. I'm part of Kleine’s team. I would've informed you a lot sooner, but I've had to undergo a lot of training with the team this past week.”

“It's alright,” Jongin says. “I've been training too; for the mission that we're about to go on. I'm really happy for you; you deserve this. You worked really hard for it.”

Sehun opens his mouth, pauses, then licks his lips. He looks horribly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, thanks. But, uh, I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help, so. Would you like to, perhaps, grab dinner sometime before we deploy? My treat, as a thank you.”

Jongin's mouth acts before his brain does. “Sure, I'd love to.”

“Great,” Sehun utters. “I'll, uh, come by Friday night? Seven?”

“Yeah, that works for me.”

 

 

 

  
Wearing jeans feels… funny. It's been too long since he'd last pulled on a pair, and the fabric is stiff enough to bunch up weirdly behind his knees. But it still fits well, and Jongin will admit that he looks quite nice in them.

At seven on the dot, Jongin's doing up the last button on his shirt when a knock sounds at his door.

“Hey – oh.”

Sehun frowns at him, then down at himself. “What's with that tone? Do I look bad?”

“What? No, you look good. Great, actually.” He really does, dressed in black jeans and a fitted grey (!) tee. Subtly emphasizing the length of his legs and the musculature of his chest… yeah, he looks great.

Swallowing, Jongin looks away from Sehun and slips on his shoes.

“So, uh, where did you want to go?” He steps out and the door seals shut behind him.

“I’m hoping you like diner food,” Sehun says, “because I've got a friend – I don't have many, mind – who owns one in the heart of town. I haven't been to see him in a while, so if you don't mind..?”

“I don't mind at all.”

Sehun gives him a small smile and Jongin's mind is blown. He's not blind – Sehun's attractiveness has been very apparent since the first day they met, but Jongin's a very focused man, and he had a job to do for eight weeks. But now? When he's no longer responsible for Sehun? Well, that's a whole new story.

They end up on the skyrail, a mode of transport similar to trains above ground, just without the rails. It's effective, making use of all the available space in the air and thus saving space on the ground. It's crowded, filled with people heading home from work or out for a night of fun. Jongin finds himself pressed up against a car divider, practically squished against the glass.

“You able to breathe, there?” There's amusement lacing Sehun's words, and Jongin pulls a face. They're facing each other, Sehun's palm flat against the glass surface next to Jongin's shoulder for stability.

“It's a little cramped,” Jongin admits. “But at least you don't stink.”

“I'm glad,” Sehun says.

The skytrain jostles, and Jongin manages to fit hands around Sehun's hips before he's thrown backwards. Then the train jostles again, and if it wasn't for Sehun's still outstretched arm, he would've smacked Jongin's head with his own.

“Careful,” Jongin breathes. They're close enough for Jongin to see the small scar high on his cheek. He remembers the day he felt that – he was writing a math test, and blood had dripped down on his paper, a fat crimson drop contrasting sharply with the white.

“Yeah,” Sehun answers, rough. Jongin follows the dip of his Adam’s Apple with his eyes.

 

 

 

  
“These are excellent,” Jongin declares, stuffing another three fries into his mouth. “Crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside…”

“Oh yeah, Soren’s a culinary genius. He hates the fine dining cuisine scene, prefers to whip up comfort food that everyone loves.”

“How'd you meet?”

“Came here in the dead of the night because I really wanted a burger. He was the only one in the kitchen at that time, and he brought it out to me personally. I told him his food's good, and well, that set him off. He's very talkative, so he mostly spoke while I listened. It was… nice, oddly enough.”

Jongin smiles, dips another fry into a homemade sauce.

“It's nice when you meet good people unexpectedly,” he comments, sinking his teeth into a burger.

Sehun looks at him, gaze intense and searching. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Jongin's reply dies on his tongue when shouts flare up from the table next to theirs.

“Ow! Fuck, that's hot!”

“You okay?”

Looking over, Jongin sees matching burns on the backs of their hands. It's a couple, and they're clearly soulmates. Heat rushes up Jongin's collar.

“Huh,” Sehun says quietly. “Bonded.”

“Ah, yeah.” The prongs of Jongin's fork prods at the fries scattered around his plate.

“What do you think of that?” Sehun asks suddenly. “The soulbond.”

“What do you mean?”

Sehun lifts a shoulder. “I dunno. A bond like this could be extremely complicated to navigate around. I mean, you only know someone's your soulmate through them getting hurt? Sounds twisted.”

Jongin takes several moments to figure out how to proceed. “Well,” he starts slowly. “That also means that there's someone out there who's experienced all the hurt you've been through. Of course, mental hurt is different and impossible to fully share between two people, but there's someone who can, to a point, _understand_ what you felt.”

“I wouldn't want that for my soulmate at all,” Sehun mutters. Jongin fights the urge to blurt out the truth over half-eaten burgers.

 

 

 

  
The deployment bay is filled with sixty soldiers, eight four-wheel drives and two small fighter crafts. Everyone's getting into position, checking their firearms and making sure their uniforms are in order.

Jongin leans against a vehicle, arms crossed over his chest as he makes sure his squad is in order. It's a little uncomfortable, standing like this – he's got a rifle strapped to his back, a couple of combat knives strapped to his hip, and a handgun strapped around his thigh. A lot of straps, and a lot of weapons.

“Hey.” Jongin looks to his left and sees Chanyeol approaching, rifle flapping against his side.

“Dude, you oversee training, shouldn't you of all people have your weapons fastened securely?”

“Oh shut up,” Chanyeol says easily. “It's been a while since I've suited up.”

“Why _are_ you on this mission?”

“Vincent broke a few bones earlier this week, and Emmeryn said he needs more than one treatment session to fix it. I was the next best thing!”

Jongin snorts. “Congrats man.”

“So,” Chanyeol says, leaning in conspiratorially. “You told him yet?”

“Do _all_ of you guys know by now?”

“That's how our friendship works buddy. There are no secrets between the eight of us.”

Jongin sighs and rests more of his weight against the vehicle. His gaze slides over to where Sehun is, crouched down and lacing up his boots. “No, I haven't told him. Still don't really know how to.”

“That's tough man.” A large hand claps down on his shoulder.

“Well, it's not something I have time to think about now.” Jongin pushes off the vehicle and strides over to his squad before Pieri can knock Kiragi unconscious.

“Fall in,” Jongin calls. “We’re set to leave in a few minutes. Robin, you're driving the first vehicle, Jared, you're in the second. We’ll be the second squad out, behind Kleine's. Stay together; no one goes off alone.”

“Attention!”

Kleine's voice rings loud and clear in the bay, and Jongin turns around to see them standing on a couple of stacked crates.

“Our goal for this mission is to collect intel on Delta One. Patrolling patterns, security details, changes in terrain, and so on. Try not to engage unless it's necessary, but if the opportunity presents itself, feel free to take as many of them out as possible.”

Kleine hops off the crates and rejoins their squad; Jongin glances over and meets Sehun's eyes. They trade a nod of acknowledgement and small smiles, and when Jongin looks away, he sees Kleine giving him _a look_.

“Alright,” he says, swivelling around to look at his squad. “Saddle up.”

 

 

 

  
Rubble crunches beneath the soles of his boots and the air is filled with the scent of a dead city. They move in pairs, rifled lifted and pressed close to whatever walls are still standing.

“Split up,” Jongin orders, voice ringing loud and clear through their comms. All five teams are linked up, but there are individual lines for each team. “Two teams of six. My team will go right, and Jared's left. Meet up at the target location.”

“Heads up, everyone!” Chanyeol sounds far too chipper. “Scans are picking up locations of the _iseijins_. I've sent the coordinates to your devices. We count twenty-five around Delta One. They seem to be staying in place. Just a reminder that our radars can only pick up _iseijins_ within a two-kilometre radius of Delta One; be careful.”

Behind him, Jongin hears the equipment that Camille’s carrying hum away as it records down all the data they need for their mission. It scans the topography of the area, a sonic sensor able to pick up areas that they don't pass on foot.

“Two up ahead,” Kiragi says, looking through the thermal lenses. “Two o’clock.”

“They'll have scented us by now,” Jongin says. “Stay sharp. How far are we from the tower?”

“Three clicks.”

“Okay, listen up. You guys have my permission to kill them only if you have a clear shot at their napes. Otherwise, we move quickly and quietly, keeping out of their range.”

Things go well for the next twenty minutes, each squad checking in with the air unit halfway through. Both halves of Jongin's team reunite. Then things start going downhill at breakneck speed when Camille's sensor suddenly hones in on two _iseijins_ that somehow turns up two blocks from them.

“We have to pass them to get to the rendezvous point,” Jongin says, hand held up to halt his squad.

“Is there no other way?”

“Kleine,” Jongin says.

“Yeah?”

“Is there an alternate route from where I am?”

“If you don't see it on the map, then there isn't one.”

“That's helpful,” Jongin sighs. He closes the line to Kleine's squad and reopens the one for his own. “We’ll have to fight them.”

“Well, that sucks,” Pieri says. She flips the safety off her rifle and checks to see if the plasma gauge is fully charged. “But I'm so ready to kill some of these fuckers.”

 

 

 

  
Kiragi’s yell pierces through the air, and Jongin twists around from where he's firing bullets into an _iseijin’s_ body to see him lying on the ground with a rusted metal pylon lying across his abdomen. They've already killed one, but the last one is giving them a bit of trouble. They don't have much space to navigate, and there aren't enough vantage points for their grappling hooks to latch on to.

Not to mention the poor structural integrity that these buildings have.

“I'm stuck,” Kiragi pants. “I can't move my legs.”

“Hold on, okay? Don't move.” Jongin skids to a stop next to him, “I’m gonna get this off you, alright? Just hold on. Jared!”

Too focused on getting his man free, Jongin doesn't realise the closing distance between him and the _iseijin_ until the rest of his squad are yelling his name and Kiragi's shouting for him to move.

“Getting you out first, you hear me?” Jongin grunts, moving the pylon another inch. Jared looks over Jongin's shoulder in fear. “Jared, on three. Hey! We can do it. On three.”

On three, they manage to shift the pylon enough for Kiragi to wriggle his way out. And on three, Jongin finds himself with a three-inch claw jutting out of his abdomen.

A few kilometres away, Sehun collapses like a deck of cards, hands pressed against his stomach as blood seeps through the gaps between his fingers. There are no _iseijins_ around them; Kleine stares at him in horror. Through their comms, they hear Pieri shout _Jongin's down! We need air evacuation! Now!_

 

 

 

  
His throat feels like sandpaper. Really, really rough sandpaper. He thinks he makes a sound, but it still feels as though he's floating on a cloud of cotton candy, so Jongin isn't entirely sure.

But then he feels a straw against his lips, so he figures he _did_ actually make a noise. He takes a long drink and waits until his eyelids feel light enough to lift open.

The first thing he sees is Emmeryn, seated by the side of his bed and a tablet in her lap. She's typing away furiously, hair in a messy bun piled atop her head. Jongin lets his eyes move over to the right – his heart nearly stops when he sees Sehun leaning against the wall there, an intense, unreadable gaze levelled on him.

He coughs, and Emmeryn's head snaps up.

“Ah! Are you fully coherent?”

“Yeah,” Jongin rasps.

“Okay.” She glances, a little nervously, over at Sehun before clearing her throat. “Well, I'm sure you know what happened?”

“Stabbed,” Jongin says succinctly. “Stomach. How’s Kiragi?”

“He’s okay. Fractured his patella and tibia, but he’s all good now. And yes, stabbed in the stomach. You lost a lot of blood, but the claw missed anything vital. We stuck you in the healing pod for three days, and you're mostly good to go. No lasting damage or anything. Another day or two for observation, then I'll sign your discharge papers.”

“Okay.”

Emmeryn clears her throat again, and she gets up to pack. Noisily.

“I'll, uh, be back later tonight,” she says. After another glance at Sehun, she practically runs out of the room.

“So I guess you figured it out,” Jongin sighs.

“You knew.”

Jongin watches as Sehun walks over to Emmeryn's recently vacated seat.

“Yes,” Jongin answers.

“You've known for weeks.”

“Yes. Since I saw your tattoo that one day I dropped by your apartment.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I was… trying to find a good way to tell you.”

Sehun slumps deeper into his chair, all the fight suddenly drained from him.

“So you…” He gestures to himself.

“Yeah,” Jongin says quietly. “I didn't know how you'd react, knowing that I knew about something so personal.”

Sehun stares at him, and Jongin can see all the conflicting thoughts rushing through his head. Dread settles into the gut of his stomach when he sees something shutter in Sehun's eyes.

“I'm not ready to talk about this,” Sehun says abruptly, fingers curling into fists. “I can't.”

Jongin pushes himself upright.

“Sehun –”

“No,” Sehun interrupts. “No. I can't. I don't want this.”

He stands, the chair skidding backwards with a rattle. Without thinking, Jongin reaches out and closes his hand around Sehun's wrist. His heart shatters when the other man flinches visibly, every single muscle tensing at the touch.

“Wait,” he tries, tightening his hold. “Sehun, can we just –”

“No!” Sehun explodes, colour in his cheeks and frustrated tears in his eyes. “ _No!_ I never wanted this! I never asked to have a soulmate, never wanted to subject someone else to feel everything that I had _no choice_ but to go through. Let me go, please. I don’t –” A tear slips free, rolls down the planes of his face and falls off the point of his chin.

“I never hated it,” Jongin tells him. Sehun won't meet his eyes and his fingers are still tightly bunched in a fist, but he doesn't stop talking. “I never wished for the bond to go away. All I wanted was to be able to help you.”

He lets go of Sehun's wrist to climb out of bed, mindful of keeping a good distance between them.

“It didn't take me long to figure out what was going on. I wrote all over my skin one day, hoping my soulmate would be able to see them and reply to me. It didn't work, of course, but I'd still try occasionally after that, out of sheer hope.”

“I was _relieved_ ,” Jongin says, “whenever I felt something. Because that meant you were still there. It meant that even though I wasn't able to help you then, I would have the chance to help you in the future, when we met.”

Sighing, Jongin runs a hand through his hair and grimaces internally at the state of it. He really needs to shower.

“Look. The only thing I hated about the soulbond was how it constantly reminded me that I couldn't be there for you. I couldn't help you. I'm supposed to be someone who shares both your pain and your happiness. All I felt was your pain, and I couldn't even lessen that.”

He takes a step closer to Sehun and exhales in relief when Sehun doesn't back away.

“Me getting hurt is not your fault,” he says quietly.

That elicits a response.

Sehun grabs onto the hem of his shirt and lifts it, eyes never leaving Jongin’s. With every inch of skin revealed, Jongin feels his blood curdle more and more.

“Because of me,” Sehun says, tossing the shirt aside, “you had to experience all of this.”

Jongin can't take his eyes off the collection of scars littered all over Sehun's skin.

“It wasn't because of you,” Jongin says, fingers extended in question. Sehun doesn't move away, so he takes another step forward and presses the tips of his fingers to the jagged edge of a scar by Sehun's hip. “Not a single scar here is your fault.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I know,” Jongin says firmly. He brushes his thumb over a scar running down the side of Sehun's ribs. “I know because I remember feeling all of these. I remember feeling the ones that _didn't_ leave scars. This one? We were sixteen. I was helping my mother with the laundry. Felt like a burn. Looks like one.” He moves his hand over to the front. “You fractured a few bones here. The first injury I ever felt. We were eleven.”

He walks around Sehun, stops to soak up the design of the tattoo. It doesn't take long to find the scar again. “I remember this scar. Felt like a knife. And I also remember getting the whole tattoo, although I don't have anything to show for it.”

At that, Sehun snorts. Jongin smiles, hand sliding around the curve of Sehun's shoulder.

“It's not your fault, okay?”

“My… father,” Sehun says. “He had pretty bad anger issues, and they're exacerbated whenever he drinks. Which is often. I took his blows so my mother would stay unharmed. She was the only person who loved me, you know? I was homeschooled, so there was essentially no chance that other people could find out about the abuse. He passed away when I was seventeen. Drank himself to death, pretty much.”

Sehun doesn't seem to mind Jongin touching his scars, so Jongin keeps doing so.

“Mom and I lived together for a while. We didn't make it underground, so we had to lay low in one of the apartment buildings on the outskirts of town. It wasn't too bad, actually. We were able to build a life together as a family without worrying about our lives every day. But she died after a year or so; shitty conditions and all. I was alone for a few months after that until soldiers came looking around my area for survivors.”

“I'm sorry,” Jongin says quietly. “Sounds like you really loved her.”

“Yeah.”

Sehun turns around, and Jongin lets his hand fall back to his side. Their eyes meet, and Jongin gets the sudden urge to hug Sehun for a whole three hours.

“During that time,” he continues, “I think you were training to enlist.”

“Oh. You felt the hits? Sorry, I was a little sloppy in the beginning.”

The corner of Sehun's mouth quirks. “Yeah. They got me through the loneliest days. Reminded me you were out there.”

“So you understand how I felt.”

“I guess I do,” Sehun agrees. His voice is soft, eyes glimmering, and the tense set to his shoulders has somewhat abated.

“Oh, and, you're wrong about something.” Sehun twists his arm around and points out a small scar above his elbow. “This one is actually my fault. I tripped over a dirty sock, fell backwards, and a splinter went through right there.”

“Then I stand corrected,” Jongin says. “You bear the full responsibility of the pain I felt for that splinter.”

A short huff of laughter escapes Sehun's lips, but before Jongin can fully register that, he finds himself with an armful of the other man. The hug is over before he can return it, but it was nice while it lasted.

“Thanks,” Sehun says, lashes sweeping against the curve of his cheek as he stares down at his shoes. “I was always worried my soulmate would hate me for everything I made them feel.”

He reaches for his shirt and pulls it on in one fluid movement. “I have training, but um, I'll be back later. That is, only if you want me to come back, of course.”

“I'd like that. We probably have to spend a fair bit of time on really getting to know each other. You know, considering.”

“Considering,” Sehun echoes. Then, with a smile, he opens the door and leaves.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“How is he?”

Sehun looks up and sees a familiar person walking towards him, hair dripping wet and a towel slung around his shoulders. He’s seen this guy talking to Jongin before, so Sehun automatically assumes he’s asking about him.

“He’s fine,” Sehun answers, tugging on his training gloves. “He’s awake. I’m assuming you’re asking about Jongin?”

“Yeah,” the guy says, opening a locker and pulling out a gigantic bag. Sehun raises an eyebrow at it. “Oh yeah, I’m Chanyeol, by the way. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally?”

“Well, Jongin –” Chanyeol pauses and turns around with a shirt bunched up around his forearms. “Er, did you guys, perchance, talk about something big?”

Sehun rolls his eyes. “Yes, we talked.”

“Okay, good. I’m glad you guys talked. He’s been stressing out for a long time over it.” Chanyeol pulls on a pair of pants and trips almost instantly, shoulder knocking into a row of lockers.

“Yeah, he told me.” Shutting his locker, Sehun waits until it locks before turning around to face Chanyeol.

“He’s a good guy,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun lets out a stream of air. “He is.”

 

 

 

  
The rest of his squad are already warming up on the training deck, and when Sehun walks in, eleven heads swing around to look at him with various degrees of curiosity in their eyes.

“...Yes?”

Someone coughs, and Kleine stands up from where they’d been stretching out their hamstrings.

“How’s Jongin?”

“Fine,” Sehun answers. “He’ll be discharged in a day or two.” He fixes his CO with a look. “You know, you could’ve just asked Emmeryn. She’s his doctor, and I’m sure you two know each other a lot better than you know me.”

Kleine snorts. “Hoo boy, Jongin’s definitely going to have his hands full with you.”

Several people laugh, and Sehun flushes so quickly he feels a little dizzy.

 

 

 

  
It’s past dinnertime by the time he returns to Jongin’s hospital room. He’d stayed behind after training ended to make up for some of the time he’d lost waiting for Jongin to wake, and he ended up staying longer than he thought. Sehun rushed through his shower, and his hair is still damp when he knocks on Jongin’s door.

“Hey,” Jongin says, looking up from a file in his hands. “I thought you changed your mind about coming back.”

“No, I just lost track of time. Kleine gave me a few days off from my duties because of your injury, so I stayed back for a little to fit in more training. Sorry if I –”

Jongin clicks his tongue and shushes him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You have no obligation to me or anything.” He gestures to the chair, and Sehun settles down into it, dropping his sports bag onto the ground.

“I don’t know how to proceed,” Sehun admits. Jongin sets the file aside and shifts until they’re facing each other. “Where exactly do we go from here? What do you expect from me?”

“Expect? Hey, I don’t expect anything. We can just start by getting to know each other, you know, gradually becoming friends. I just… hope you don’t feel like you’ll have to deal with everything by yourself in the future. I’m here.” _For you._

Sehun takes some time to look at him, taking in the sight of kind eyes, a strong jaw, and soft lips. Jongin’s body language reads that he’s comfortable in Sehun’s presence, albeit a little careful, and Sehun’s a little surprised that he seems to be so _willing_ to bond with him.

“Okay,” he says. Jongin blinks at him. “Let’s get to know each other.”

“Yes, great, okay. How do you want to do this?”

Sehun shrugs and leans back in his seat. “We’ll start easy. Tell me about your family?”

 

 

 

 

That’s how Sehun finds himself spending all of his free time with Jongin. They get to know each other, Jongin introduces Sehun to his group of friends, and Sehun even meets Jongin’s sister. He’s nowhere near ready to meet Jongin’s parents, but Jongin assures him that he can take as much time as he wants. It’s nice, Sehun has to admit, having the knowledge that this person is somehow meant for him. Jongin is someone he has that’s _untainted_ , despite all the abuse he – and Jongin, to an extent – had to go through.

Jongin treats him well, respectful and perfectly aware of the many boundaries Sehun has erected between himself and others over the years. Sehun is used to closing himself off from others, used to keeping everything bottled up and locked away, but he’s trying to change that with Jongin, and it’s clear that Jongin notices. He never fails to remind Sehun that Sehun is the one who sets the pace, that he determines where they go and how fast they go. Every bit of himself that Sehun reveals, Jongin reciprocates with one of his own. It’s slow, but steady, and Sehun has to admit that it wouldn’t be as much of a challenge to fall in love with the other man than he had originally thought.

Two weeks after Jongin’s discharged from the hospital, the same squads are deployed for another mission. Despite the bump they faced in the last mission, they had managed to obtain enough data between the remaining squads to launch an attack on Delta One.

“Our mission today is to take down that tower. Doing so will take a considerable number of _iseijins_ off the street, and in the time it takes for them to erect another tower and send reinforcements, we’ll start pushing our perimeter out. It’s the start of Phase Two, everyone, in our goal to take our city back. If this mission is successful, other similar ones will be put into motion – there are eight other towers out there, and we need to take them all down. So let’s show them we’re capable of this.”

Kleine hops down from the crates and slinks over to Sehun.

“You want to take a couple of minutes to go talk to your mate?”

Sehun sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He would never have expected Kleine to be so… animated about certain things, especially since they have a serious image to uphold. “He has a name, you know.”

“Sure, sure,” Kleine says, grinning. “So? You gonna go talk to him?”

“You’re not gonna stop asking unless I do go, are you?”

“Probably not,” Kleine agrees, then promptly gives Sehun a shove in Jongin’s direction.

Everyone in Kleine and Jongin’s squads knows about their bond – it’s hard not to, since the both of them collapsed at the same time with the same wound. Word travels fast, especially between people who trust each other with their lives. Your business becomes their business, and Sehun is learning to come to terms with that.

So when Pieri sees Sehun approaching, she breaks out into a cheeky grin and elbows Jongin in the side.

“Ow! What –”

“He’s here,” she stage-whispers, “like you’d hoped.”

Jongin flushes a brilliant shade of magenta. “I’m going to make you run ten laps,” he mutters under his breath, and Pieri lets out a peal of laughter before running away.

“Hi,” Sehun says, trying to ignore the looks from Jongin’s squad members _and_ his own. He can practically feel Kleine’s eyes on the back of his head.

“Hey,” Jongin replies, hiking his rifle higher up on his shoulder.

“So uh,” Sehun winces mentally. “Be careful today.”

“Yeah, Kiragi,” Pieri calls. “Don’t put Lieutenant Kim in danger again today or you’re gonna get it!”

“Twenty laps!” Jongin hollers over his shoulder, and Pieri holds up her hands in surrender. Amused, Sehun waits until Jongin looks back at him. “Sorry about her. She’s shameless.”

“It’s alright. Just stay safe, okay? I’ll know if you don’t.”

Jongin reaches out for his hand, and Sehun meets him halfway. A calloused thumb sweeps over the back of his hand, and the touch sends tingles all the way up to his ears.

“I’ll be vigilant,” Jongin promises. “You too, yeah?”

Sehun nods, twisting his hand around so several of Jongin’s fingers fall into his grasp. He gives them a squeeze, and Jongin smiles at him.

“Kiss him,” someone hisses.

Jongin’s eyes widen, and Sehun can feel his heart skid to a stop before revving right back up. It’s the Lieutenant who reacts first, eyes narrowing as he turns to find whoever just spoke.

“Alright, you guys need to learn that –”

Sehun tugs on Jongin’s hand, and when the latter turns back around to face him, he leans forward and brushes his lips across the curve of his cheek. A wave of excited whispers erupt, but Jongin stays silent.

“Stay safe,” he repeats, then slides his hand out of Jongin’s and returns to his squad.

 

 

 

  
The explosive lets out a sharp beep, signifying that it’s linked up to the detonator, and Sehun sticks it against the side of Delta One. He grabs another one out of the pack strapped to his back and sprints a few hundred feet to the next location. His rifle is in his other hand, loaded, charged, and ready to fire should any of his teammates require his aid before he’s done wiring the base of the tower up with explosives.

“Three more coming from the north-east,” Chanyeol says, and Sehun looks to his right to see the beam of light from the helicopter cutting through the darkness.

“I’m almost done,” he says, words coming out in pants as he runs. “I have two more to hook up.”

“Join up with Deacon when you’re finished,” Kleine orders. Static crackles through the line.

It takes just another minute or so for Sehun to set up the rest of the explosives. Once he’s done, he sprints back to the team, shoots down an _iseijin_ that almost slices Deacon in half, and signals to Kleine that he’s ready to detonate.

“Attention all squads! Clear out of the blast zone – we are five minutes from detonation.”

There are three _iseijins_ blocking their way. Deacon taps Sehun on the shoulder, gestures to the crumbling skeleton of a building next to them, and takes off once his grappling hooks are secured to the walls. Sehun follows right after, lifting his rifle up to his shoulder as soon as his feet come into contact with solid ground. They take down one _iseijin_ together, plasma bullets ripping through tough, purple hide and incinerating the nerves and blood vessels connecting the brain to the rest of the body.

“Move,” he calls, keeping an eye on the other two _iseijins_ as they hop from ruined building to building. He dodges a swipe, the sharp edge of a claw nicking the fabric of his pants. He feels the tip split skin, feels the sudden flare of pain along the side of his thigh, much like a paper cut.

“ _Sehun!_ ”

“I’m fine!” He yells, narrowly avoiding a glob of spit and leaping onto another building just in time to avoid getting crushed by a fist. “Just a scratch!”

Pulling out his handgun, Sehun fires off a clip into the _iseijin’s_ face, several bullets piercing it right through the eyes. It roars, bright yellow blood splattering all over, and Sehun scrambles away, firing his grappling hooks at the building across the street. He flies over, twisting around midair and sending a well-aimed shot into the nape of its neck.

The ground shudders when the alien collapses, falling backwards like a sheet of cardboard. Sehun himself collides with a cement wall, shoulder bouncing painfully of the surface.

“Jongin, I’m fine,” he says into the comms. He doesn’t wait for an answer before switching to his team channel. “Deac, let’s go meet up with the rest.”

“Squad leaders; sound off,” Kleine orders as Sehun regroups with his squad.

Too busy keeping aliens away from them, Sehun doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the squads checking in until he hears Kleine call Jongin’s name.

“Jongin? Lieutenant Kim, I need you to check in.”

Kleine glances over at him, and Sehun lowers his weapon. _You feel anything?_ Kleine seems to ask. Sehun shakes his head and presses on his comms.

“Jongin!”

He hears a bunch of background noise cut up by feedback, and he’s never been so aware of his own body before.

“Jongin,” Kleine begins, starting to sound more than a little worried. “Please –”

“Yeah, shit, I’m here. We’re all good. Got sidetracked for a bit, but we’re okay. Clear for the blast.”

The relief he feels must be painted all over his face, Sehun thinks, but he finds that he doesn’t care whatsoever.

“Head to the evac point,” Kleine orders, tossing another glance over at Sehun that he doesn’t notice.

Sehun waits until everyone he can see is ahead of him before pressing on the detonator. The blast is deafening and painfully hot, and the tower seems to shiver before it explodes, purple pulses of energy radiating out from the crumbling column as debris plummets to the ground.

 

 

 

  
The adrenaline rush of the mission fades away, leaving behind aching muscles and grime slicked across skin. Sehun’s just unlocked the door to his apartment when someone calls his name from the end of the corridor.

“Hey,” he says, watching and waiting for Jongin to reach him. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you got hurt. I didn’t get to catch up with you when we unloaded, so I’m here now. How bad is it?”

Sehun can’t help but smile. “I’m okay. Really need a hot shower though.” He tilts his head towards his apartment. “You wanna come in?”

His apartment is kind of a safe zone – quiet, clean, and a place that’s all his. The second he steps inside, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. Sehun drops off his equipment by the door, tells Jongin to make himself comfortable, and beelines for the bathroom.

By the time he comes out, Jongin’s got two mugs of tea on the table and a quick meal of spaghetti bolognese on plates.

“How… long was I in there?”

Jongin laughs. “Doesn’t take long to boil pasta and heat up a sauce,” he points out.

“You should take a shower too. I can wait for you?”

Jongin motions for him to sit. “No, I can wash up after dinner. But I do want to take a look at your leg if you’ll let me.” He produces a small first-aid kit out of nowhere and kneels by Sehun’s feet.

“Okay,” Sehun says. He pulls up the leg of his sweats. “It’s not a big deal though, just a scratch.”

Jongin takes a single glance at the wound and makes a sound in the back of his throat that seems capable of coming from a wounded animal.

“This isn’t just a scratch,” he sighs, reaching into the kit and pulling out a small spray bottle. “I’m gonna seal it shut, okay? Might sting a little.”

Sehun distracts himself from the pain by watching Jongin work, gentle fingers spreading a thin layer of healing gel across the laceration after he seals the skin together. There’s a little crease between Jongin’s brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he patches Sehun up.

“There,” Jongin says, standing and packing the kit away. “Should feel better in a few days.”

“Can I kiss you,” Sehun blurts, pant leg still bunched up around the seam of his thigh. Jongin drops the bottle in his hands, and it rolls beneath the table, coming to a stop at the edge of a rug.

“You want to kiss me?”

“You sound surprised,” Sehun mumbles.

“Perhaps a little,” Jongin admits. He wraps fingers around the curve of Sehun’s bare knee.

“I guess you would be.” Sehun taps Jongin’s hand with his index finger. “But I’d still like to kiss you.”

With that, he leans down, holds Jongin’s face between his palms, and kisses him soundly on the lips. It’s chaste and tinged with nervousness, but when it becomes evident that Jongin is willing to accept whatever is given to him, Sehun dares to press a bit further. He's not exactly well-versed in the world of kissing, but somehow, it works out right at this moment.

Lips part, tongues meet, jaws are cradled in careful hands. It doesn't cause fireworks to explode, but it does cause Sehun's heart to leap right into his throat in the best way possible.

 

 

 

  
They get a break from military duties when the other squads step in to do their part in the war, emboldened by the success of the fall of Delta One. Given a few weeks off to spend time with family and friends before they’re deployed again, Sehun finds himself spending practically all of his waking hours with Jongin – in a sense, the man _is_ his family and his friend, all wrapped in one.

“Didn't know you could bake,” Sehun says, leaning against the counter and watching as Jongin sifts flour into a large bowl.

“You have no idea how many times I've had to help my sister with bake sales,” Jongin replies. “Let's just say that my chocolate chip cookies were always a hit. She took all the credit though, of course.”

Sehun chuckles, gaze sweeping across the room to land on a framed picture of Jongin's family.

“Hey.” Jongin's voice pulls him out the reverie he didn't realise he was in. Sehun turns back around to see Jongin's eyes on him, knowing. “My family is your family, you know that right? My parents haven't met you, but they already love you.”

“What lies have you been telling them about me?” Sehun asks, eyebrows quirked.

“No lies,” Jongin shrugs, mixing sugar into melted butter. “Just truth.”

A nice haze of calm falls over them as they work, Jongin whipping together a batch of dough and roping Sehun into scooping balls of dough with him.

When the first batch of cookies disappear into the oven, Sehun turns Jongin around to face him and says, “I'd like to meet your parents.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This is an integral part of our relationship, especially if we're to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“What exactly _is_ the relationship that we have now?”

Sehun pauses. He spots a smudge of flour on Jongin's cheek and thumbs it away.

“I don't know. We're just… us, you know? I know we haven't known each other for years, not like Junmyeon and Jongdae, but we're still destined to be together just as much as they are. We're soulmates.”

“Can't argue with you there,” Jongin agrees, and leans forward to kiss him. “If you're willing, I can see if they're free for dinner tonight.”

“Okay,” Sehun says, stepping into Jongin's space and letting him wrap arms around his waist. The aroma of freshly baked cookies float up around them, and Sehun tastes sweetness inside and out.

 

 

 

  
The door opens to reveal the rest of Jongin's family, and Sehun watches nervously as they trade hugs and kisses. Jongin’s sister spots the cookies and she makes a beeline for them instantly.

“Mom, Dad. This is Sehun.”

“Hi, Mrs. Kim, I –” Sehun's words are knocked right out of his lungs when Jongin's mother pulls him into one of the biggest hugs he's ever received in his life.

“Every time Jongin's bond activated, I would pray to whatever gods out there that you would be okay. We so desperately wanted to find you, help you, and every injury you sustained just broke my heart a little more. I'm just so glad you're okay.”

Sehun's speechless. He clings to her small frame, in disbelief that someone who has never met him, never set a face or a name to the reason behind the bruises and cuts that adorned her own son’s body for years, is _sorry_ for what happened to him.

Over her shoulder, Sehun sees the soft, affectionate look on her husband’s face. When their eyes meet, Jongin's father gives him a kind smile, and the tears start to fall.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You okay?”

Sehun’s seated on the couch, elbows resting on his knees with a mug of tea in his hands. He’s staring into the depths of the drink, eyes a little puffy, and Jongin settles into the empty spot next to him. Gently, so as to not spook him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry if my parents were a little overbearing. They were really excited to meet you.”

Sehun sets the mug down. “No no, it was actually lovely meeting them.” He chews on his bottom lip.

“It just made you think of the family you’ve always wanted?”

A sad smile. “Yeah, a little.”

Jongin leans over and plants a kiss on his temple. “My family’s your family, remember? I know it’ll take some time for you to get used to that idea, but never forget that all of us will always be there for you, especially since we’ve finally found you. Now come on. The water’s hot and bubbly and it smells like a perfumery. I’ll wash your hair?”

He turns away to give Sehun some privacy as he strips – he’s still a little uncomfortable having all his scars bared to the world. When the sound of sloshing water reaches his ears, Jongin turns around and settles down on the side of the tub.

“You don’t actually have to wash my hair,” Sehun says, passing the bottle of shampoo over.

“Just let me take care of you.”

He suds up Sehun’s hair and massages his scalp until Sehun starts to doze off.

“Wanna rinse off?”

Sehun hums sleepily, and Jongin washes the suds off his hands before heading out the door.

“Wait. Will you join me in the shower?”

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t feel uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I want you to.”

 

 

 

  
That’s how Jongin finds himself standing under the shower spray with Sehun’s arms wrapped around him, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Jongin looks down at the tattoo wrapped around Sehun’s back, deft fingers running up and down the knobs of Sehun’s spine. He brushes against the edges of more than a few scars, but Sehun doesn’t flinch at all. There’s not a single tense muscle in his body, and Jongin holds him a little tighter.

“Thank you,” Sehun says, words slightly muffled by Jongin’s skin and the water. “You never gave up on me, ever since the day we met.”

“There was just something about you,” Jongin admits. He rests his hands over the dimples in Sehun’s lower back.

Sehun pulls away just enough to fit their lips together, blunt nails running down Jongin’s nape as he licks into Jongin’s mouth.

“I’m glad it was you,” Sehun says, nipping at Jongin’s bottom lip.

“Me?”

“I’m glad you’re my soulmate,” Sehun clarifies, then goes straight back to kissing the life out of Jongin.

The water is warm, but the heat that rises from deep within his gut has nothing to do with the water. Sehun pushes him up against the wall of the shower and slots a leg between Jongin’s.

“We should, ah, really stop before this goes any further,” Jongin mumbles, fighting back a groan when a large hand lands on the curve of his ass.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to go any further.”

“We do things at my pace, isn’t that what we’ve decided on?” Sehun looks him square in the eye. “Well, this is me setting the pace.”

Jongin grasps Sehun’s wrists and holds them in place. But before he can say anything, Sehun shushes him and says something else.

“I’ve always dreamt of being touched like I was loved.”

Sehun’s wrists drop to his sides when one of Jongin’s hands flies back up to tilt Sehun’s head and pull his mouth back onto his own.

“Will you put your hands against the wall for me,” Jongin says, words ghosting across Sehun’s lips. “And if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

Sehun fixes him with a look before peeling himself off Jongin’s front and stepping around to place his palms against the wall. Jongin kisses a scar that runs down Sehun’s bicep and fits himself against Sehun’s back, a hand dipping down between the man’s parted legs to wrap around his arousal.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Sehun exhales, head hanging. Jongin presses another kiss to another scar and starts pumping his hand, the other running up the ridges of Sehun’s abs to brush against straining nipples.

That sends Sehun’s hips pushing back against his own, and Jongin can’t help the moan that he releases. Sehun’s head twists around, pupils blown and a flush ripe in his cheeks.

“Will you –? Between my legs,” he says quietly.

Jongin nods wordlessly, shifting so his erection slides in between Sehun’s thighs, slick with water. He can feel the rough skin of a scar on the inside of Sehun’s right thigh, but it sends pleasant spikes of pleasure shooting up his groin, and he sucks a love bite into the tender skin of Sehun’s neck just to show him just how nice it feels.

Each rock of his hips drives Sehun’s cock into the sheath of Jongin’s hand, and although the water’s loud enough to drown out most of their moans, Jongin’s somehow still able to hear every single sound that comes out of Sehun’s mouth. He thumbs at the slit, twists his wrist on the upstroke to rub the curve of his palm around the glans, and runs a line of pressure against the underside of Sehun’s cock.

It doesn’t take long for Sehun to climax, water washing his release away almost instantly. As soon as he catches his breath, Sehun turns around, drops to his knees, and takes Jongin into his mouth. Droplets cling to thick lashes, running down the concave lines of his cheeks as he gives Jongin one of the best blowjobs he’s ever had the luck to receive.

Jongin comes with a muted groan, Sehun pulling back just in time to get come all over his lips that he licks off. Chest heaving, Jongin reaches down to cup Sehun’s chin and pull him up.

“I’m _only_ ever going to touch you like you’re loved, okay? I promise.”

“I believe you.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Epilogue – Two Years Later**

“Three squads will head out to Delta Four while we deal with the _iseijins_ swarming around the roads leading to the arms depot. It’s imperative we focus on clearing the way, because international aid is due to arrive sometime this week and we can’t risk anything going wrong then.” Kleine looks over at Jongin. “Got anything else to add, Captain Kim?”

“Phase Two is progressing very well. We’ve taken back approximately 30% of the city, and there are only six towers left, as compared to the twenty-four that they had at the peak of their power. The _iseijin_ population is down by over 50%, and rebuilding of the city, Phase Three, will likely begin within a year. Of course, that is only if we are able to keep our results that way, so let’s make sure we do. We leave in ten minutes.”

Sehun steps up to him, gloved fingers finding his own easily.

“Lieutenant,” Jongin says. “Got something for me?”

“Maybe,” Sehun replies, leaning over to kiss him. “By the way, your thigh holster is a little out of place.”

Jongin looks down and chuckles. “I’m lucky you’re not my superior.”

“I’d definitely write you up for that,” Sehun teases.

They walk to the edge of the bay, watching as four-wheel drives move into position for departure. Jongin keeps a hand resting on the jut of his protective vest – Sehun had forced him, and the rest of the army by extension, to wear one after his chest was almost torn to shreds by claws during a mission. He’d spent close to a week in the healing pod for that, and Sehun was beside himself with worry the entire time. He has a large scar there now, and Sehun kisses it every night just to remind the both of them that life is fragile.

“Mom and Dad want to have dinner with us when we come back.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Jongin squeezes his hand.

“You know, my mother would’ve loved you,” Sehun says softly. “I think she would’ve really loved you.”

Jongin looks over at him, smiles at the man he loves. “If she’s anything like you, I know I would’ve loved her too.”

“Stay safe out there, okay?”

“I will,” Jongin promises. He kisses the back of Sehun’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note!  
> 1) The soulbond only 'works' when skin is broken or bruised. Injuries that do not cause marks do not trigger the bond.  
> 2) [This](https://www.thisistattoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/geometric-tattoo-designs-3.png) is Sehun's tattoo.  
> 3) 'Iseijin' is Japanese for 'alien'. I know, top marks for originality.  
> 4) This is mainly a soulmate fic; the sci-fi is just on the side, so sorry if it doesn't live up to your expectations.  
> 5) Military ranks do not directly correlate with ones IRL. In my head, it goes from cadet (trainee) < officer < lieutenant < captain. Newly recruited soliders start as officers.  
> 6) Tablets are used because they work better with the underground city's tech as compared to phones and stuff. Everything can be done/accessed with the tablets.  
> 7) Names of most OCs are from Fire Emblem :)
> 
> Note: I know most of you probably want more smut for this, but I wrote this for character growth and the development of sekai's relationship. 
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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